The Distance Between Us
by Indiana Beach Bum
Summary: I can't tell him now. I can't tell him ever. How are you supposed to tell your boyfriend you know his most devastating secret? Mostly Wendy's POV. Style.
1. Prologue

So I really didn't have any inspiration after FTT was over...I had deadened my soul along with my character's souls. But, never fear, for inspiration struck me when I least expected it. I've already told her, but sweetfur, your song fic "Unnoticed Friction" actually spawned this idea, even if they are two rather completely different concepts.

Anyway, not sure how long this will be, not really sure where to go after chapter 1. Drastically different approach than FTT too--I had that thing mapped out from start to finish before the drop of the first word. So you tell me what you think right now. Just a basic summary/overview of the scenario. The story will be told MOSTLY through Wendy's POV. However, as author, I do reserve the right to switch up POV's if I so please.

---

**The Distance Between Us **

Prologue

I guess on some level, I have always suspected it. There's not a single girl I know that battles for the time spent with her boyfriend the way I do. And I don't think there's a single couple in our school that has lost that "loving feeling", so to speak, as much as we have. But, then again, no couple in the entire school has been together for as long as we have either. We have a history together. Pretty much a life of our own. They always told us we were going to get married. That our lives were mapped out by the time we were twelve years old and he proposed to me on the playground with a package of Pixy Stix and a Ring Pop. No one ever expected this kind of detour. I know I certainly never did.

Most people look at me and find themselves saying, "she doesn't have a right to complain." I've got pretty much everything I've ever wanted. Sure, I've worked hard for a lot of it, but they don't see that. They don't see the imperfections that lie within my complex friendships and relationships, my constant struggle to be the best, and my fierce competitive nature that's caused me some difficulties in the past. They just see Wendy Testaburger, co-captain of the girl's volleyball team, president of student council, nominee for homecoming queen, and valedictorian of South Park High School's senior class. No, I'm not listing off my assets here (although I DO sound rather impressive). That's really how I'm known around this school. When you live in a town as small as what we do, and you've lived there practically your whole life, you have a reputation to withhold. And my reputation was set in stone the minute I announced my undying love to my boyfriend of three years when I was six years old. And that reputation was town sweetheart, girlfriend of football extraordinaire and the ever-handsome Stanley Marsh.

If you live in South Park, you know Stan. Everyone knows Stan. He's the man's man, the best bud to all the jocks, and the town's star quarterback. But what he _doesn't_ show all of you is that he is actually a sensitive, shy, and caring individual with romantic intentions and high aspirations for his future. That he is actually a down-to-earth guy behind closed doors who cares about others and tends to put them in front of himself. That he is as intelligent as he is athletic if he just applied himself more in school than out on the field. That he is more loyal to his friends and family than anyone else I have ever met.

If you know Stan, you also have to know Kyle. Kyle Broflovski is his best friend since before he could properly pronounce his last name, and they've been inseparable ever since. Trust me, I know. I've battled with my fits of jealousy over Kyle, but Stan calmed my nerves a few years back when he told me that he loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with only me. He had gotten down on one knee and re-proposed as a clumsy sophomore boy, to which I giddily accepted. Our troubles came later, of course, and now I sit here with this stupid cubic Zirconium on my finger wondering why I decided to be Mrs. Stan Marsh before I ever really knew my boyfriend. Before I knew myself.

I found out exactly five weeks and four days ago about Stan's little secret. Or should I say BIG secret. Devastating secret. If anyone else found out, or I told anyone, that would be the end of him. When you've got everything, you've got everything to lose, right?

That's exactly how I feel. What is a girl like me supposed to do if I lose the one staple in my life that I thought made sense? Sure I've got all those other things going for me, but I was lying before. When they mention my name in this town, you have to get past the "Oh, she's Stan's girlfriend!" remarks before you get down to who Wendy Testaburger really is. I'm not known in this school for my talents—I'm known in this school for _his_ talents. And if anyone—and I mean ANYONE—were to know what I know now…we'd both be ruined.

I blink myself back into reality as I watch my supposed _boyfriend_ flirt right in front of my eyes. My God, it's SO obvious, how could I not notice it before? How could this whole town be so completely unaware of his true feelings? Are we really daft mountain folk? I warn you, I think a lot about this now. I have questioned my logic and my own intelligence a few thousand times in the past few weeks. How could I not? I'm living a lie now, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Will I be able to keep it up forever?

"Wends, I'm gonna have to cut our date short tonight," he mumbles through a grin that's definitely meant for someone else. "I've gotta do some more practice rounds on the SAT before next Saturday." The person he's smiling at blushes and returns their own eyes down to the table. They both completely avoid eye contact with me.

Okay, so it seems legitimate, right? Stan has to study for his SATs, because, like any good-natured middle class senior student, he plans going to college. And in order to get into a university, you have to score fairly high on your standardized testing. But what he _won't_ tell you is that he's studying these practice tests with Kyle so that they can both get a decent enough grade to attend the same 4-year institute. And by studying, I mean something I can't even being to describe or think about without my stomach flipping inside out and tying itself into a knot.

Kyle's not a bad guy. Matter of fact, he is second in our class (next to me, of course), and is extremely well known within our school as well. Our top track runner, he is tall, thin, and absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous…if you go for that sort of nerdy, non-muscular type. Or so I've been told. I wouldn't know, obviously, since I only have eyes for Stan.

I can't say the same about Stan, however. Seems lately that he only has eyes for Kyle. Yes, I said it. It's too damn hard for me to say, don't make me repeat it either. How can you tell your boyfriend you know he's secretly dating his best male friend? How can you let him know you found out about their secret rendezvous behind the football bleachers? How can you bring yourself to embarrass him by telling him how you saw him go down on his best friend in broad daylight in his backyard? I've never been much for secrets, but I have no idea how to handle this. Especially since Stan goes on acting like his "normal" self.

He still gives me a peck on the cheek, he still plans dates for us to go on. He still calls me his girlfriend and makes every interaction between him and Kyle seem strictly platonic. To everyone else. I, on the other hand, know better.

I doubt you even want to know the story. As disturbing as it is, I can't help but feel the urge to tell it anyway. I have no idea how long this has been going on, but I do know for a fact it wasn't the first time. Not when your boyfriend moans someone else's name like that, kisses someone else like _that_, and even LOOKS at someone else like that.

It wasn't always like that. We used to be happy. _Truly_ happy. Once upon a time…

But those days are gone now. And now…now I'm left wondering how the hell I'm ever going to get through this. How I'm ever going to bring myself to telling him that I know.

If I even _can_.


	2. The Perfect Boyfriend

Merry Holidays to everyone! I have to get up early tomorrow to drive back to North Carolina, but had a spurt of creativity, and wrote this out. I'll be going to bed now. Thank you for all the encouraging reviews from the prologue. I think I have more of a direction that this will be going now. Hope you like!

WARNING: I've never started out a story this way before. But I'm always trying out something new, so yeah, I thought this was delicious irony and a beautiful way to juxtaposition the two relationships. I'll stop rambling now and let you read. Reviews are mucho appreciated!

**Chapter 1- The Perfect Boyfriend**

---5 Weeks 4 Days Ago---

"Oh god oh god oh god!" I pant, finding it impossible to keep my voice down, even though Stan's constantly been shushing me.

"Keep it down!" he scolds again in only a semi-angry tone. I think he's afraid of getting caught.

"I'm trying!" I giggle, trying my hardest to honor my boyfriend's wishes. But _you_ try to keep it down when he's inside of you and reaching places you weren't aware existed. He's never been this passionate before. I wonder what's gotten into him.

He rakes his fingers through my hair once more and leans back up, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly smiling. In between his own pants, that is. He lets out a quiet moan and his forehead crinkles, as if he's trying to hold on for longer.

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I feel indescribable tingling erupting from the inside of me and filtering to all of my limbs. "Oh…oh GOD STAN!" I scream, my body tensing up so tightly I can feel every inch of him and every movement we make together.

His eyes clamp shut too as I feel his fingers dig into my scalp and he grunts something inaudible. I open my eyes briefly and notice his body lurch, as if he's going to throw up. But that never happens anymore, and so I close my eyes again and let him take me away to high heavens. My body begins to involuntarily spasm and I realize I'm not finished yet. I open my mouth to scream but instead take a deep breath inwards as those fireworks people speak of finally start going off.

We've done it again, and now we're both exhausted. Stan opens his eyes, his vision settling on me and realizing what's happened yet again before he smiles. It looks like a satisfied smile, but there is something behind it that I can't put my finger on. I don't really care right now, honestly. He reaches down to pull off the filled condom and leans over me to toss it in the wastebasket. Afterwards, he lifts his leg slightly and then kind of rolls off to the side of me, still panting heavily.

"Fuck," he mutters, undeniably euphoric given our previous chosen pastime. He stares up at the ceiling and brings the back of his hand to his forehead, wiping off the intense amount of sweat he's accumulated.

That had to be a good thirty minutes we just used up. It seems to be getting longer and better lately. I'm not sure what's gotten into him, but it seems that whenever I ask or even hint at doing anything, he seems to put up a front. But it all fades away when we're actually in the act. Maybe he's just not all that into foreplay.

I can't help but notice how scarcely he touches me anymore. His hands seem to always be tangled up in my hair, which I wore curly again today. I think he really likes it that way, so I plan to continue to please my man.

I sigh dreamily and prop myself up on the side, staring into his gorgeous blue eyes. He looks at me and frowns.

"You were too loud," he whispers.

I smile innocently. "You never seemed to mind that before," I remind him, a little annoyed that _that_ is what he has to say to me after _that._

"My mom is downstairs," he replies flatly. "I don't want her knowing what we do up here."

I roll my eyes. Does he honestly think she doesn't know? We've been together almost as long as his parents have, it seems. How could we NOT be expected to "fuck like rabbits," as he so eloquently used to put it? "Sweetie, I really don't think she cares."

"I don't care if she doesn't care it still doesn't make it right!" he squeals, seemingly getting worked up.

I place a loving hand on his chest, urging him to calm down. "I can't help it. See what you do to me?" I grin playfully, hoping to earn a smile from him.

To my relief, he grins back. "I _am_ pretty good." Then, like that, his mood is gone, and he snakes his arm around my shoulder, kissing my forehead. "You're so cute, Wendy," he gushes, and I feel the heat that our bodies have generated by being so close together.

I lean in for a kiss and he quickly accepts, pulling away only a few seconds later.

"I love you," I tell him, feeling just about as happy as humanly possible. I have the perfect life right now. Perfect boyfriend…

"Love you too," he answers back, smiling into my eyes. I feel his arm tighten around me and he pulls me into a hug. I am SO lucky!

When I lean in for another kiss, he gives me one on the nose. "We've gotta get around though, Kyle's gonna be here any second now."

I groan. "Why don't you let ME help you with the SATs today?" I ask, hoping that, for once, our plans won't be cut short by him having to study for that damn test again. How much studying can you do for a standardized test anyway?

He shakes his head. "Wends, only Kyle knows my study habits. We've got a routine down, we've been over this," he explains, exasperated that I would even ask that question again.

But…okay, so I'm not the greatest tutor in the world. I can admit that. My intelligence is best used for me and me only. I've tried to tutor my nephew who's in the fifth grade a few times and he looked at me like "whaaa???" But, seeing as Stan and I have been together forever, I think I would be able to adapt my teaching style to him so that he could learn off of me. I mean, I AM the smartest student in our class. In South Park High School, period. Only Kyle comes close, and regrettably, he's not that far behind. If I don't step it up, I'm looking at sitting in the salutatorian's chair during graduation.

It isn't fair. When Stan asked Kyle to tutor him, I was unprepared and not even aware my boyfriend was having any troubles in school. As far as I knew, I thought he was content with his B-C averages. I had no idea he was in such desperate need.

Oh, but Kyle used that opportunity to soak up Stan's time. Any time with Stan was good for him. Plus he could say he has been tutoring someone for his entire senior year on his resume. And Kyle likes to milk all of his accomplishments for all they're worth.

Okay, so maybe I do too. And maybe I'm a bit jealous that Stan would even ask Kyle OVER me. But, he says it seems to be working, so I reluctantly accept the fact that I have to time-share Stan with Kyle for the rest of this year.

Like the good girlfriend I am, I just sigh and give him one last kiss before getting up to gather my clothes. As I hook my bra and pull my fitted T-shirt over my head, Stan walks over to me and smiles. I stop what I'm doing and smile back, feeling his hands around my waist.

"I really like your hair like that," he tells me before brushing a stray curl from my vision.

"Do you now?" I play.

"You should wear it like that more often. It's hot."

I respond simply by smiling and, I'm pretty sure, blushing. My boyfriend is hot, and he's standing naked in front of me, telling me he likes something about me.

He smiles back and brings his lips to mine. Our kiss is…nice. Over half of Stan and I's relationship has been nonverbal, but that's mostly because Stan's not the verbal type. We smile a lot. We KISS a lot. It's become the staple to who we are as a couple. And I'm okay with that. Except when I feel like talking and Stan doesn't feel it. That's why I'm REALLY surprised that lately, aside from this drastic change in our sex life, Stan has wanted to talk more than anything else! It's kind of exciting—could he be maturing into the boyfriend I've always hoped he'd become? I don't know, but then, again, I don't mind reverting back to the old every now and then. Like right now. The way he's kissing me…I could get lost in his arms forever and have absolutely no problems with it. When we pull apart, he leaves me in somewhat of a daze.

"Run along now, little girl," he says through a grin. A grin that I cannot stand to part with. Most girls ogle over how cute their boyfriend is, and most girls would tell you that his smile is killer and his eyes are beautiful. And most girls would be lying. Because until they've come face to face with Stanley Marsh, they haven't SEEN a killer smile and beautiful, endless blue eyes. I can't decide which feature I like most, but I'm staring again, and he calls me out on it.

"Stoppit, Wends!" he cries, turning me around with his arm and pushing me out. Just as I exit the doorway to his room, I see Mr. Kyle Broflovski letting himself in downstairs in the foyer. I pause mid step to observe his actions. You can tell a lot about someone just by watching him or her every so often. Kyle fully enters into the two-story entrance hall, shaking his body free of the harsh cold from outside. He closes the door behind him and lets out a loud "BRRR" while dusting the snow off his olive green jacket. Kyle is what you'd call tall. He far surpasses the height to anyone in the grade, and he almost has to duck when he switches rooms or comes inside. He used to hate the height, but throughout last year, I watched him begin to embrace it. He no longer slumps his neck, therefore creating horrific posture. It could have something to do with Stan constantly nagging him about how his height is something to be happy about. Kyle would have killed for that height back when he was the wiry redheaded Jewish boy trying out for the basketball team.

Kyle pulls off his hat next, running his hands through his curly hair to make sure its not wet or messed up. He has awesome hair for a guy. Again, that was something he used to hate. But he learned how to tame it and style it, and now, now it's the envy of our grade. I know my best friend always rants and raves about how hot Kyle is. And how his thick auburn ringlets make him the most "sexable" guy in South Park. Her word, not mine. Bebe's monogamously challenged. I don't think she even knows the meaning of the word "relationship." She hasn't had a boyfriend for longer than two seconds, and the guy she's always coming back to time and time again is Stan's poor friend Kenny, who's just about as relationship deficient as Bebe. They're perfect for each other.

"Hey Wendy," Kyle acknowledges as he clearly recognizes me from the bottom of the stairs. He has taken off his jacket to reveal a cool button down white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He adjusts his reading glasses and ascends the stairs.

"Kyle," I politely nod. Not that Kyle and I are enemies…but anything that puts a strain on Stan and me is a problem. I try my best to be civil at all costs, but today I'm kind of pissed off. Yet another deliciously intimate moment cut short because of the best friend. I'm getting sick of this. But I'll keep my mouth shut. I always do.

"Hey dude," Stan greets, his smile extending from ear to ear. I'd like to think _I _have something to do with that smile. Ha, look what I do to that poor boy. He's probably in such after-sex heaven he can't come down.

Stan looks over at me, widens his eyes, raises his eyebrows, and purses his lips together. "We gotta get to work now, Wends. You understand, right?"

Ugh, I HATE when he puts it that way. Cause if I say "no I don't" then I'M the bitch. But if I say, "yeah I do" then he thinks I'm okay with this as a daily occurrence. Third option is I say "fine" and he knows its not really fine but I get away without acting angry.

"Yeah I understand," I reply weakly. I've got to learn to stand up for myself. I have ZERO problems with doing that…as long as it doesn't involve Stan. When Stan's involved, I'm retarded silly putty.

"See ya Wendy," Kyle calls from already the depths of Stan's room. Stan smiles and gives me a kiss on the cheek before saying goodbye and shutting the door. I sigh and begin my descent of the stairs. I don't understand it, I really don't. Why? Why does he have to study with Kyle every single FUCKING NIGHT!? I give myself a brain cramp as I gather my coat and purse from the downstairs closet.

"Why hello Wendy," Sharon Marsh greets me. She's just about the sweetest mother a guy could ever ask for, and Stan takes her for granted. He thinks she's got an evil side that I find impossible to even detect. He's just an overly emotional teenage boy who wants more freedom than what he should be allowed. And no, I'm not his mother. I can admit Stan's shortcomings. He's immature and needs to show the people he loves what they mean to him. He's been really distant lately even with _me_, and I won't tolerate that.

"Hi Sharon," I answer, instructed about five years ago to call her that instead of Mrs. Marsh. "I'm just on my way out."

"Is Stanley and Kyle studying together again?" she asks, a hint of mild concern in her voice. Hmmmm, that's odd. Perhaps she sees that it's affecting and he and I's relationship as well.

I fail to hide the disappointment in my own voice. "Yeah, they are. Sharon, did Stan always have this much of an interest in his grades, or was it not until recently?"

She laughs nervously and sighs. "I don't understand it either, Wendy. He'd never cared until Kyle offered to help him, and since then, I can't get him to stop studying."

What an odd statement. "You want him to stop studying?"

She laughs again. "Well…no. No, I'm happy he's focusing on something that will bring him through college, rather than football. But, it just seems like he's overdoing it a bit." She walks me to the door as I start moving again. I don't want to rush her, but I don't want Stan knowing we're talking about him either. "Wendy, I love Stanley with all my heart. But that boy didn't even look twice at his report card for eleven years of schooling. If he thinks he's going to fool the colleges into believing he's an A student, well, it just isn't going to happen."

I lean in and whisper. "Well I know Stan's always been a bit of a…slacker…in that department. That's why I can't figure out what his sudden drive is for."

Sharon looks at me as if she's about to say something to me, but instead blinks. "You better run along now, dear. I don't want you to be late for dinner."

"O-okay," I stammer, seemingly being forced out of the Marsh home. I say goodbye and we politely exchange smiles and then, before I know it, I'm out on their front porch. I frown and reach into my pockets for some gloves. As I cover my left hand with one, I look at my watch. It's only 4:15. Dinner won't be for another two-three hours. Weird.

---

"Wendy, OMG, get over here!" Bebe screams into the phone. Couldn't have been five minutes since I left the Marsh's, but ever since they moved, I'm a lot farther away from Stan's house than I was before. After ninth grade, Randy became quite the successful geologist, accepting a position from Colorado State as a land surveyor and then his responsibilities just expanded after that. Sharon still worked in the plastic surgeons' office, but with their income together, they were easily able to afford a bigger and better home. Unfortunately, that meant a construction site that was far out into the country so that the drive to Stan's house was over ten minutes from mine now. It made it damn near impossible to sneak into each other's bedrooms like we used to.

Now he lives in the wealthy area, where other successful businessmen and their families have moved. A new development for only the rich. Doctors, politicians, lawyers…

Kyle lives there too.

I realize I've left Bebe hanging. I know I'm not supposed to talk on my cell phone while driving, but when I notice Bebe has left four messages on my phone and called it another seven times, I figure her "emergency" might just be worth calling back for. "What's wrong?" I ask casually, prepared to hear another dramatic overdone story. She's SUCH a drama queen.

"I forgot my notes for biochemistry. OMG Wendy you HAVE to let me borrow yours!" How Bebe is passing biochemistry is anybody's guess, but with my help, she's doing just fine.

"And you just realized this? You had all weekend to study for the test," I inform her.

"Do you think I even think about picking up a book until Sunday, Wendy? Not all of us are bookworms like you. I have a life you know."

"But this test is pretty important, you should've been studying since he told us the date for it," I say, mildly bruised from her insult. I have a life!

"I should've but I haven't. So can you help me or not?" Poor Bebe. Behind her bold exterior, she is so helpless.

I sigh. "Yes I'll help you," I accept, expecting a proper thank you this time. "You realize this is the eighth time I've bailed you out of potential failure from that class."

"Yes I do, sweetie, and I'm eternally grateful. Now when can I have those notes?"

"I'm on my way back from Stan's, so I can drop them off now."

I hear her sigh. "Did you try to tutor him again, Wendy? You know he won't take your help."

I immediately get defensive. "It doesn't hurt to try! And anyway, you'd be proud of me. We didn't do a drop of studying."

"You fuck?" she asks distastefully.

"Its called making love, Bebe. You should try it sometime," I say sarcastically.

I hear her snort. "Oh I love making it alright. Just last night, Kenny-"

I cut her off before this story begins. "Okay so I'll be over there in a few, is that alright?"

She laughs again. "That's fine. You can hear my story then."

"Can't wait," I groan.

"Love ya!" she squeals and hangs up the phone. Bebe is an overly peppy cheerleader that's far too slutty for her own good. How we're friends, I'll never know. But I love her.

I reach over for my purse to store my cell phone and grab for my book bag to have the notes handy and ready for a grab-and-go situation. I can't stomach another one of her escapades with the only boy in town who's sluttier than her. I search around the seat with my hand, but I cannot locate my book bag. Swiveling my head, I find that it's not in my back seat either. And I didn't open my trunk. That means I left it at Stan's. Crap!

Come to think of it, I _did_ bring it up with me to his room before we…got carried away. I _did_ try to convince him one more time to let me help him by merely showing him my books, but he groaned, fell backwards on the bed, and prepared to give me a lecture on why he doesn't want me as a tutor again when I just shut him up by falling on top of him. I guess it wouldn't be a good thing for me to tutor him. We'd never get anything done. At least with Kyle I know he's in good hands.

I make a sharp three-point turn since U-turns are illegal now and head back in the direction I came. My car sputters to hold on under the icy and frigid conditions. I never bring 'ole Betsy out of the garage for this long. She's going to catch a cold.

I'm not going to call Stan, because he'll be all pissed I interrupted his study time. So when I reach his house, I quietly shut off Betsy's engine, pull out the key, and head for the front door that I was so rudely shoved out of a few minutes ago. As I raise my hand to ring the doorbell, it occurs to me that Kyle had let _himself_ in, and I'm more family than he'll ever be. So I slyly turn the doorknob and enter the premise, feeling a warm blast of air pummel me right in the face. Part of the reason I like being at Stan's is cause Sharon makes it feel sub-tropic in their mansion of a house. My mom doesn't know the meaning of heat. I spend most winter days snuggling up to my personal heater (Stan) to keep from developing frostbite.

I see Sharon out of the corner of my eye, and she stares at me oddly. I turn my head and point in the direction of the stairs. "I forgot my books," I explain barely above a whisper and making a face.

She "ahh"s me and gestures for me to head upstairs. She's sitting in their dining room huddled up to the table with a bunch of papers populating its surface. More often than not, I see her in that position. I don't know if its pictures of different body parts and she has to compare them or what, but that seems to be the way she passes the time when her husband is not there.

So I tromp up the stairs, finding it really hard to tromp, seeing as they are topped with plush tan carpet on their hardwood surface. I don't even think I make the quietest of sounds as I follow the wooden banister with my hand and skip every other step. Stan's door is the second on the right in the line of a LONG hallway of doors. I kinda wish he would have opted for one that's further from the stairs, simply because it'd be further away from the downstairs and thus easier for me to make more noise. But, as he pointed out when he had moved in there, it is the BIGGEST room upstairs, excluding the master bedroom of course, and it has the coolest shape to it. True his room does have personality. That's why I love being in it so much.

As I reach the door, I slow down my steps to listen in on the tutoring process. Ha, I could stand outside his door and learn all the tricks of the trade—how Kyle does it—then turn around, research it all, and teach him in that way. God, I'm obsessed.

Only…I don't hear any words coming from within Stan's bedroom. Matter of fact, I hear sounds similar to what I had heard when _I_ was in there a half hour ago. Maybe the walls in this house are too thick and absorb any conversation from within. If so, then that's a good thing for our little noise problem. My forehead crinkles in confusion as I press my ear to the door, not wanting to open it quite yet.

What I hear next sickens my stomach. Stan is definitely groaning. He is groaning, grunting, and breathing irregularly. I pull myself even closer into the door until it feels like I'm beginning to sink into it. I hear Kyle too. He is panting. What the hell?

"Oh fuck, don't stop Ky," I hear VERY audibly. Guess the walls aren't that thick after all.

Kyle only muffles something in response. I hear a slurping sound—I'm not kidding, I plainly HEAR it. It's like a slapping, slurping sound and I KNOW how that sound is made. Is he…are they…what's going on?

"Shit I'm gonna cum!" And then soundless noise from the boy who was inside me not even an hour before.

That's it. I retract my head fast enough I feel a slight case of whiplash. And the entire world around me caves in. The door in front of me distances itself further and further away until I feel like I'm falling into an endless spiral. And all I can hear are the grunts and moans of my boyfriend that I know all too well. They are invading my mind, making it impossible for me to even think straight. I want to scream out, but I can't let them know I'm out here. Instead I hightail it out of there, not giving a damn if I make any noise down the staircase or even when I slam the thick wooden door.

I'm not even safely inside my car before I feel the tears creep up and leak out. I force them back in, refusing to cry over something so…insane! I can't…I don't think…it can't be real. I HAD to be hearing things. Why…how…what would possibly drive him to DO that? I mean, Kyle's a guy too! Ugh, my stomach feels way too queasy. I drive off but have to pull Betsy over to dump the contents of my stomach on the side of the road.

Nothing makes sense right now. I pull my hair to the side as I stay hunched over, halfway inside of my car. I close my eyes to collect my thoughts, as if that's the magical key that'll make me not feel the way I feel right now. I find it hard to breathe in addition to the already breathtakingly low temperatures. I sigh about ten thousand times, making up my mind to drive farther away before I break down.

As I start up Betsy's engine, I peer into my rearview mirror at the house of the damned I just left. It looks cold, lonely, and evil. Yet what is going on inside of it is everything BUT cold and lonely. They sure seemed pretty hot to me. GOD DAMMIT STAN!!!

And goddamn Kyle Broflovski. Damn him to hell, I will NOT lose my boyfriend over some tall and supposedly gorgeous BOY. I won't. I can't. I…

Now the tears start flowing freely. My face becomes drenches within a matter of seconds as the big house disappears into a tiny blob in my mirror. I can't go back there. I can't go back to him!

Stanley Marsh _cannot_ be gay. He can't! It is a mathematical certainty that he and Kyle are physically incapable of being more than friends. They had to be rehearsing something…or acting out…or…

Who am I kidding? NO boy acts out a blowjob with another boy, a straight one at that. And the way he was panting, the way he cried out Kyle's name. Ky. He called him Ky. WHAT was Kyle Broflovski doing in MY boyfriend's jeans? How could he even…

I can't answer anything right now. I can't hear my own thoughts over the intense buzzing sensation coming from my inner ear. I will NOT listen to Bebe's sex stories after that, I won't. I'll call her and tell her to get the notes from someone else. I have some other matters to tend to.

Like figuring out what to do next.


	3. The Aftermath and The Rollercoaster That

This chapter did not turn out at ALL like I was expecting it to. I had other plans in mind, but eventually, I got it back around to the original thought. Funny how your fingers and mind can really have a mind of their own when you're writing, eh? At any rate, there is little to no action in this chapter, it's more or less Wendy's thoughts afterwards. But please be patient with me, its going to be a challenge writing a Stan/Kyle fic in a POV who ISN'T Stan or Kyle. But it also excites me for that challenge, so…yeah. 

I like this chapter, even if it is Wendy focused. And I wrote it all in one sitting. Tell me what you think! The next chapter should...maybe…come soon? Don't quote me on that, but I'm gonna start it right now too :)

**Chapter 2- The Aftermath and the Rollercoaster That Comes With It**

The phone rings, but I'm too pathetic to answer it. So I just listen to the monotonous noise, repeatedly alerting me that someone is on the other line, wanting to hear my voice. I wait for it to die down and stare up at the miserable ceiling, almost envious of the fact its purpose in life is to sit there and be aesthetically pleasing.

Is that all I am to him? An aesthetically pleasing _cover up_ to his own true feelings? And I'm not being egotistical here, he's told me THOUSANDS of times how beautiful I am. So is that what he looks at me as? This…this…object…that he can freely use at his convenience but never, no NEVER, feel truly attached to.

I feel dirty, but I've already taken three showers to get that grimy, putrid feeling off of me. I even scrubbed my skin until I began to see coarse red bumps. Great, so now I'm dirty _and _I have a rash. Perfect. This day just couldn't get any better. I feel useless and abandoned. I feel irritated. I feel unbelievably lost. I feel…

My answering machine picks up. My parents don't have much money, but they know how much of a phone freak I am, so for my fourteenth birthday, they bought me my own phone line and answering machine. This was before I could even afford a cell phone…or even knew what a cell phone was. Here in the middle of nowhere, we don't get reception anyway. I hate this town.

"Hey sweetie, its me. When Kyle and I were studying"—HA, _studying—_, "he noticed you left your backpack over here. Wasn't sure if you wanted to swing by and get it, or I can drop it off when we're finished over here. Well, call me when you get this. I love you."

Click. My automated message thingy beeps twice to let me know I have a new message. Sometimes I think it KNOWS I'm just sitting here listening to the messages, unwilling to pick up. But this time I want to strangle it by its stupid power cord.

What the HELL am I supposed to do??!?! He called me sweetie. Ugh, I wonder what kind of pet names he has for _him_. On second thought…no, I don't. It wasn't even Stan who noticed my backpack still there. It was KYLE. Stan was too busy fucking his play toy to even notice his _girlfriend's_ book bag sitting particularly near the bed. And he actually had the nerve to say "when we're finished over here." Well, I bet they're finished with whatever they were doing before, cause God knows he wouldn't interrupt that to call me.

Love me? He LOVES ME?!?!?!? **_YEAH RIGHT!_** Someone that loves someone else doesn't cheat on him or her with his or her best friend. THEY JUST DON'T!!! Especially a male one at that.

What does he have that I don't? Huh? I know that's a stupid question if you want to play the "guess the anatomical part" game, but I'm talking otherwise! Cause I know Stan's not gay. He can't be gay and still be able to bring me such pleasure. There's something that he's not receiving from me, I just can't figure out what. I give him everything. I'd give him my brain if it would stop this nonsense excuse of studying for SATs. Meh, I could use without this cursed thing for a few days. At least _then_ I wouldn't have to analyze every single little detail like I _know_ I'm going to do…

What about Kyle Broflovski is so appealing? All the girls in the school had correlated his name with the greatest ass before, but I didn't really take that seriously. How much can you fall for someone just on their physical appearance anyway? Especially one on their backside. …Now I'll admit I've had my share of lust-filled fantasies with Stan and HIS body, but I'm his girlfriend. That's natural. Boys and girls are natural. A girl who wants to strap her boyfriend down and do things that only the Roman Gods themselves could accomplish is natural. NOT two boys. Not MY boyfriend with his best friend. It's just…unholy. It's just…NASTY!

Pardon me for having the severe bias of a hick mountain town. Call it seventeen years of being born and bred in it. It doesn't change the fact that I'm a very open-minded person. But this is where I draw the line. Any two boys off the street…I could deal with. Maybe. But Stan? My heart and soul? The man I'm pre-engaged to be married to? How can this even be happening?

I thought we were happy! A few hours ago, you couldn't tell me any less. My God, it took him TWO HOURS to even NOTICE my book bag was still there. I've been sitting here for that long. Have they been…doing that…for two hours? No wonder he always has to study. He spends the first five hours of each study session not studying at all.

Ugh, this makes me sick. I think I'll call off school tomorrow. I'm the top student—they wouldn't question me for a second. I mean, they _would_ be disappointed in me ruining my perfect attendance record…

…But who has perfect attendance for four straight years anyway? I was BOUND to miss a day or two. It just sucks that I'd have to wait till the fourth year of that to start missing. And on a test day, at that.

I groan and roll over on my bed, this time opting to stare into my light. Bad idea. My lampshade is a hodge-podge picture collection of all the people that mean anything to me in the world. Bebe, mom, dad, a few other non-important school friends…and then, of course, Stan. Stan, who adorns probably more than fifty percent of the damn thing is staring right back at me, his slight dimples in tact and his beautiful sparkling eyes watching over me.

I rip the lampshade off and find strength within me I didn't know I had to tear it. I sigh out of exhaustion and anger when I find out that it still wasn't enough strength to so much as bend it. I scream out as I chuck the demonic object under my bed and slam my body back down, covering my face with my hands. The scream resides deep within my lungs, and it continues for a good 5 seconds until I hear it gradually start to fade from the inside out.

Sure enough, I hear a timid knock at my door only seconds later. "Sweetie? Sweetie is everything okay?" I hear my mother's soothing voice from the other side.

Why does she have to call me sweetie too? I'm not as sweet as I look. Especially with what's going on in my brain at this very second. And the last person I want to talk to is my mother, who will try her hardest to talk me out of whatever I'm about to, even if she has no idea what it is. She's amazing at her motherly senses that way. But I don't want to be talked out of it. I don't want to talk to someone that has absolutely NO idea how to rectify the situation. To someone who loves me unconditionally, even when I decide to jump off the deep end and swim around with sharks for a while.

Hmmm…entertaining thought. But I have a better idea. I'll just cut myself off of all human communication until I can figure out what the hell I'm going to do.

"Not NOW, mother," I tell her, exasperatedly. Not ever. I can't tell her about this. She's one of the people who've planned out everything about Stan and I's life already. She did that when I was fifteen. For someone who doesn't advocate unhealthy morals or ethics, she was awfully proud when I told her Stan and I were engaged at such a young age. Something about she just always knew, he was "a keeper." Ha.

She could be one of the reasons I'm so ashamed of this. Her and every other attitude in this God-forsaken town. Aside from the obvious ridicule we'd all endure, I feel like, in a way, we'd all be banished. For disappointing them. I may be going out on a limb when I say this, and they could correct me if I'm wrong. But I believe that half of this town lives out their wants and dreams in Stan and I. We are, in every sense of the word (to them), the "perfect couple." I've had older people come up to me and pat me on the back, saying good job. Good job for making my life perfect with the boy I always knew I wanted to be with. It's a lot of pressure to take when you're fourteen and desperately fighting your own inner battles.

I was told that I would be with Stanley before I even knew for sure myself. Almost as if we were in some country that practiced arranged marriages. Why, you ask? Because it's South Park. And the town likes to gossip. And awe over silly things. And decide your future for you. And build up your aspirations until you want exactly what its been telling you what you want all along.

And then it likes to turn around and ruin it all with a big wrecking ball in the shape of a Jewish track star.

That's the last of the knocking I hear on my door. My mother is obviously concerned, but not enough to break it down. She and I have a mutually understanding relationship. She understands to stay away from me when I'm in one of my "moods", and I understand that she knows this. For a while, she'd try to work things out with me while I was still _in_ the funk, but that was a bad idea. And a lot of hurt words and breakable objects were thrown her way. I may need to work on my temper a bit.

But hell, I've come a long way. Growing up with this expected image, I learned how to be proper. I learned how to not get quite so temperamental over things that I had no control over. I learned to accept that this town was full of idiots who didn't know what was best for them. I also learned how control my jealousy. Which was a hard thing to do when you have a boyfriend like Stan Marsh and girls are flocking to him the way they do to a rock star.

So why did he pick Kyle? Of ALL the girls in this town (and I do mean all), why'd he choose to cheat on me with someone who is his same gender? Someone who he is closer to than anyone else I know…

Okay, so I answered my own question. OH MY GOD what if he's not just cheating on me with Kyle!? What if…what if I'm really blind and he's been doing it with more girls than I can count? What if…oh god…I think I'm going to be sick.

I make a beeline toward my bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before I feel my stomach lining coming up. That's what it feels like, it burns so bad. And not just physically either, though that hurts like a bitch. It's this burning I've got in my chest that won't go away. I think its what they call…heartbreak.

I've never felt this way before. People have talked about it, and I've nodded my head in agreement, secretly knowing I had absolutely no idea what they were going through—nor did I believe I ever would. My life was set. In stone. Since when can stone break?

I hear mother's breathing in the doorway, and I look up to her, anticipating her next few comments.

"For Pete's sake, Wendy, you look terrible!" she cries out. I know she didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, but it knocks me flat on the ground even further. My eyes shift back into the toilet bowl, where I find it more healthy to flush down what is in the there rather than stare at it. "Sweetie, do you need a doctor? You're almost never sick anymore!"

She bends down to feel my forehead as I haphazardly curl myself around the toilet lid, hugging the inanimate object. It doesn't hug back, but it doesn't talk either, and that's what I need right now. Peace and quiet. Or at least quiet.

"I'm going to call your school first thing tomorrow morning and tell them you aren't feeling well. I don't want you going in when you look and feel terrible." She just _had_ to say 'look' in there first, didn't she? Sometimes I think my mother is one of those who live out their lives in me. Meh, I still love her though. I nod weakly.

She stands back up, showing me her best look of proper concern, before spinning around on her heels and racing into another room. Minutes later, she comes back with two red and white pills and a glass of water. "I'll call off tomorrow so I can take care of my baby."

At this, I groan. "Mother, I'm not your baby. I can take care of myself." My body feels weakened at just saying those words.

"Nonsense. You're practically ghost white, let me take your temperature."

"Mom I said I'm FINE!" I yell, a little too forcefully. I burp up another round of stomach acid and swivel my head back to the toilet, dumping out round #2. My God, did I really just make myself physically sick? From worry? From stress? Mother always said I'd give myself an ulcer with all of my worry. Never thought she would be right.

I hear her stern voice behind me now as I gaze miserably into the toilet bowl. "Wendy you are NOT fine. Now let me help you get into some comfy clothes and I'll crank up the heat. We can watch some of those old Disney movies that you like. How does chicken noodle soup sound?" Her voice softens the more she speaks. I feel a warm hand on the back of my shoulder.

Sounds…gross. I'm not really sick, sick. At least not the way she thinks I am. And I never really liked chicken noodle soup when I was sick anyway. But I don't tell her that. "Sounds heavenly," I whisper, spitting out some remaining residue. I listen for her exit before I reach up blindly and grab the hand towel. I wipe my face down with it, tossing it in the hamper afterwards. I lean over sideways, opening the cupboard underneath my sink to produce a new one. Then I gather the strength to pull myself back up, and waddle into the bedroom. She's right, nice comfy clothes DO sound heavenly. Maybe tomorrow won't be so bad after all.

---

Ugh, could today get any _worse_?!?! I thought I was feeling sick yesterday, but MY GOD. Mother! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!

All she wants to do is rekindle my childhood. Feed me soup and Jell-O, lay here and talk about my life, and watch movies that I've outgrown ten years ago. But the one that bothers me the most is talking about my life. Because every third sentence is "how are you and Stan", or "what is Stan doing now", or "when is your next date", or "any plans for your anniversary"? Anything that has to do with Stan excites my mother to no end, as it rightfully should. If I were in the mindset I was in twenty four hours ago, I would be giggling right along with her and brainstorming the wedding plans once again, deciding how many caters we should have, what kind of band to play at the reception, and whether my dress with have beads or sequins. Or both. Hell, that's been my mindset for the past decade. Why should it be no different today?

Because I didn't know then what I know now. I didn't _know_ my boyfriend was a homosexual, backstabbing cheater. Oh, it makes me sound so bad when I put those three words together. If anyone found out, they'd be like, "poor Wendy" on the outside, but secretly be wondering how great of a woman I was if I turned my boyfriend gay and had no idea what was going on in front of my very nose. I'd be the laughing stock of the entire town. And for the people that I've grown to despise just because of their very existence and lack of intelligence to laugh at _me_…well…that'll be the day I sprout a tail and walk around like the jackasses they are.

I'm sorry. You must really understand how much I hate this town by now. Because I blame them for my misery. And that may or may not be true, but I'm illogical, so I'm allowed to do whatever I deem necessary right now, okay?

Mother has gone up to refill my 7-Up when I hear the phone ring faintly from the kitchen. I cringe as the sound fills my ear, giving me this instant splitting headache. I touch my temples and feel the pressure inside pop. I curse audibly, hoping that mother is safely occupied in the other room. If she knew how her daughter acted behind closes doors, I don't think she'd be very proud. The only reason she treats me this way is because she thinks I'm so perfect.

"Wendy, sweetie, its for you. Its Stanley," she cooes, and my face instantly drains all its life. I glance over to the VCR clock, noting that the display time is reading 3:30. Stan went to school and is home by now. I never called him back yesterday or even acknowledged his message, so he's probably wanting to see what's up. Oh God, I can't talk to him. But I can't sit here and explain to my mother why not! I let out a scared sigh and turn to her, extending my hand.

I bring the phone up to my ear and hear him yelling something to someone. In the background, I hear another distinctive male voice laughing. Kyle's. I lick my lips and take a deep breath. "Hi Stan."

I hear some shuffling and then an overly surprised greeting. "HEY BABE! What's wrong, is everything okay?"

It almost sickens me to think of him playing dumb. Does he really think everything COULD be okay? Oh wait. That's right. He must assume I _am_ dumb, because otherwise he would have told me about this and we would have broken up. At least then I wouldn't feel this sense of betrayal. Heartbreak, yes. But unfaithfulness? No.

"Wendy?" he asks, so innocently. I want to rip him apart with my claws, but I can't even touch him. He's on the fucking phone. "Are you okay, sweetie? I got worried when you didn't show up for school today. It's not like you to miss, are you sick?"

This is Stan showing his caring side. And I crumble at my very foundation at the sweetness oozing from his voice. "Yes, Stan, I don't feel well. Mother called early this morning." I groan to over exaggerate my condition.

"Shit, Wends, you sound terrible! You want me to stop by? I've still got your book bag," he reminds me. The book bag that he said he'd drop by if I didn't get to him. But he didn't drop by. So technically, if I _had_ gone to school, he would have sent me to school without my work. That or he'd tote it with him till he met up with me. And the fact that he's _asking_ me if _I _want him to stop by leads me to believe that he'd much rather be doing something, or someone, else. Checking up on his sick girlfriend is the least of his worries, why did he even bother to call?

I decide to test him on this. "I got your message, why didn't you stop by to drop it off last night?"

A brief pause on his end fills the air with an 'oh shit' silence. "Well, by the time Ky and I were done studying, it was pretty late. You never called back, so I didn't want to disturb you if you were getting your beauty sleep." I can tell he's smiling on the other end. He just thinks he's SO smooth, doesn't he.

"I wasn't sleeping. I was throwing up. You're wearing off on me." That wasn't meant as a joke, but he took it as one anyway and laughed heartily into the phone.

"Aw, you poor thing. Tell you what, I've gotta stop by Kyle's for a little bit, then I'll head on over there, how's that?"

I grind my teeth. Stop by Kyle's FIRST, then head over to me SECOND. Me, the dying girlfriend. Dying in that I could be dying from this illness and he wouldn't even care. But mostly dying because that's what my heart feels like doing. "Sounds heavenly," I mutter for the second time in twenty-four hours, knowing full well I've never once said that phrase before. At least not in those contexts.

Three hours later, I hear a knock on the door. It is half past 7, and dad's not home yet, so mother is busy at work in the kitchen, cleaning dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher. I'm watching another lame kiddie movie that she put on, refusing to let me change it just because my mood is "a stinker". Ever since the call from Stan, my disguised upbeat attitude gave way to how I was really feeling. And I know its Stan at the door, because he's the only one that doesn't use the doorbell. He says his entrance is more memorable that way. He's right—I always know it's him.

I hear hustle and bustle in the kitchen and an "I'LL GET IT", as if she's assuming I'm going to get up and get it even when she's practically strapped me to this couch. Then I, for lack of better words, eavesdrop, as she opens the door and warmly greets my boyfriend, asking him how things are and pretty much any question I didn't answer earlier on in the day. Before I know it, Stan is standing beside the couch I'm imprisoned in, smiling and holding out my book bag. I look up to him, probably glaring, but I don't care. I only do it long enough to acknowledge his presence before my eyes focus on the television. Lord knows I'm not even watching it.

I see him frown from the corner of my eyes. I have excellent peripheral vision like that. "What's wrong, Wends? You look pissed."

Well DUH. But he doesn't know why, so I just shrug.

He takes the opportunity to swing past the TV in front of me and take a seat on the unoccupied couch space next to my feet. On the way, he gives me a kiss on the cheek. I almost throw up right there. Who knows where those lips have been. "Your mother didn't hold you hostage in front of little girl cartoons all day, has she?" Ugh, I _HATE_ that he knows me so well. I hate that he's the one person, in this entire world, that could figure me out like some kind of puzzle. I hate that he can't figure it out this time. Or if he really thinks he's that smooth. Pfft, he probably does. He's probably giving himself a pat on the back as we speak cause he's once again pulled the wool over my eyes. Stupid Wendy. Har har har.

I need to get out of this position. I hate feeling so sorry for myself. Just feeling his presence makes me want to scream—but it'd do no use. So I politely smile back at him, even though I'm glaring daggers behind it. But he's not too bright—he can't sense sarcasm. "Darling, you're too right. That is exactly why I'm pissed off."

He grins in smug satisfaction and leans back, making himself comfortable in his seat. I grip my pillow to avoid any accidental hand slippage and a punch to his face.

Then, without giving my lips permission to speak, I continue the conversation. "How's Kyle." My voice is flat and shows little emotion.

Stan's smile lingers on his face a little too long for my liking. He couldn't have… Not before he came to see me!

Damn it. He's right. Stupid Wendy. He had no problems doing it _after_ he saw me. Right after.

"He's good," is his simple response as he picks up the control and turns up the volume. Trying to drown out the truth, I suppose.

I stare at him for what seems like several minutes, and he doesn't once break eye contact with that stupid movie. I don't even think _he's_ watching it, but I know he can sense that something is wrong. Rather than ask me, however, he's going to his usual ignore-the-issue-and-pray-it-never-comes-up. I'm starting to wonder why I never saw these faults in him before.

There! He finally does it. Looks away from the TV, eyes shifted slightly in my direction, for about a millisecond before he goes back to staring blankly at the screen. He KNOWS I'm staring at him. He knows I'm waiting for an explanation.

He blinks and bites his lip. I see his leg start to shake and then he blinks again. Finally, he sighs, throwing his head back. "What?!" he asks accusingly, turning finally to face me.

I raise my eyebrows and grin smugly like he did not long before. "What, am I not allowed to stare at my _perfect_ boyfriend?" The tone in my voice even makes ME uncomfortable, I can't imagine what it's doing to him.

Good! I hope it makes his skin crawl.

"I guess…" he replies, a little unsure of himself. His head turns back to face the TV.

I switch tactics, placing my head on my propped up elbow. I scoot ever-so-slightly closer to him, batting my eyes. "Sweetie, can I ask you a question?"

I see his shoulders tense up as he turns to look at me again. "Shoot."

Will you please tell me why you find it necessary to cheat on me with your best friend? Ha, that's what I want to say. But I think that would come as quite a shock. Possibly _cause_ shock. And so I rephrase my thoughts. Change them entirely, actually.

"If I'm feeling better by tomorrow night, would you want to go out? I mean, I know you've got to study for the SATs, but it's been forever since we've been out on a date, and I think it would just be nice." I snuggle up to him, and I feel his body start to relax a bit. Somewhere, deep down, I truly believe he still loves me. This has got to be hard on him too, I suppose. Doesn't mean I'm going to let him get away with it. At least, not without torturing him until he confesses on his own in his last breath of life.

Whirlwind of emotions, Wendy. You don't mean that, you're just hurt. I bat my eyes and wait for his response.

"That could be okay…" he says thoughtfully. He turns to me and smiles, placing his hand on mine.

"You sure Kyle won't mind?" I ask, accepting his hand and squeezing it harder than what I probably should.

He winces in pain, surprisingly, but doesn't drawl back. "Wends, he's my best friend. He'll understand."

"You can bring him too," I say before I have time to think about it. WHOA, where did THAT come from?!?!?! My lips are out of control again, I do _not_ want that frizzy redheaded boyfriend stealer along on our date! Unless…unless I can get it so that I can prove I'm the one that feels like the third wheel. Then I can get him to confess…without taking his life. That would be better for the both of us.

"U-uh…" Stan stares at me uncomfortably. "Wends, you know you don't have to like Kyle because of me. I appreciate the effort, but you don't need to do that. I'm fine with it just being the two of us."

Fine isn't good enough, Stanley Marsh. I want you to say "HELL YES" to me when I ask you out. On second thought, I want _you_ to ask _me_ out for once. But, since that isn't going to happen, I've got to catch you in your sinful act. "Well I'm not. You spend so much time with Kyle, I want to get to know the guy that's constantly with my boyfriend. Give him a chance, you know?" My words are laced with pure revenge, and I can't believe the direction my thoughts are going right now. Some sort of evil has come over me, and I can't deny that I am secretly beaming with pleasure.

"O…kay…" Stan stutters, his shoulders tensing up again. "I'll ask Kyle tonight. Or tomorrow, whenever."

God, he's even bad at lying. This should be no problem getting him to confess. If he confesses, then that means I don't have to go through the agony of telling him what I heard.

He leans back again after a few minutes, stretching his arm around me and pulling me closer. We continue to watch the movie until its very end. I still couldn't tell you what its about or even what the title of it is. During that time, I had briefly zoned out the newfound knowledge I had, completely forgetting I was furious with him. His touch was so gentle, and when I yawned, sighed, coughed, _anything_, he squeezed me tight, looked over at me, and smiled warmly. A few times he gave me a kiss on the cheek and cradled my face with his hand. Those few times he would look into my eyes, I saw the decent man I know he is. I can't figure out why he's doing what he's doing, but, thanks to my big mouth, I'm going to be coming face to face with he and his…secret…tomorrow night. Because I WILL be well by then. I'll make sure of it.

The credits pop up, and I feel his reluctance to turn the movie off. He does eventually, and settles back down into the groove we have formed. "This is nice," he whispers, pulling me closer. He leans over, kissing my forehead.

Okay, now I'm confused. _How_ could he do something so sweet with me if he's banging his best friend on the side? What if it's all in my head?

We get up—rather, he gets up and extends his arms to pull me up. I accept them and he yanks me up delicately, so that I fall into him and he hugs me so I don't fall back down. I pull away and look up to him. His big eyes are sparkling with the most beautiful blue tint I think I've ever seen them, and his grin is hot enough to make me melt. He brings his face down to my level and I feel two of his fingers on my chin guide my lips up to his. He kisses me with such passion I begin to question what I had heard yesterday, everything I've been brooding over for the past day, and any evil scheme I had planned in the future.

How can a boy I know so well do something so heartless anyway? There HAS to be some sort of explanation. Otherwise he wouldn't be kissing me like this.

Just like I knew it. Stan isn't gay. He truly IS concerned with his grades. He's really close with his best friend. That's all. Good God, these mood swings are going to have me in the hospital for whiplash. It's not even my time of the month.

He pulls away gently, running his fingers through my disgusting hair. He can even kiss me when I've been sick—now that's love. "Get better, sweetie. I want to see you tomorrow night." I nod and he takes my hand, heading in the direction of the door. He grabs the back of my head and kisses me one more time. He pulls away, smiling. "Now anything you've got will wear off on me."

I laugh. The first genuine laugh all day. He knows this, and takes his exit, proud of himself. As I meander back into the now-empty living room, a gamma of scenarios fly into my head. What I heard, it could have been the TV mixed with their voices. It could have been a word problem on the SATs. My imagination runs away with me, and I often make things up that aren't really there. I don't know WHY my imagination would ever dream up something so horrible, but that's what it has to be. That's all that it is. And I'll prove that tomorrow night.

On our date with Kyle.


	4. Dinner and A Show

An update mildly quickly! Woo! Not really sure about this one. I need to know if this story is _really _grabbing anyone's attention, cause I feel like I've fallen into that angst trap again. WHY AM I ALWAYS WRITING DEPRESSING FICS?!?!?! Well, this I PROMISE YOU! This one will end well!

And, per request (I think) of Fletset, this chapter is long. More back to my typical length. And I had another part I could've tacked onto it…but I'll leave THAT for the next chapter. laughs evilly I won't do the pleading for reviews like my heart wants to, cause that's not my style. But please don't turn this off cause you think it's too Wendy based. It'll get more into Style, I promise :)

Oh, and calling Bebe 'Bee' is directly borrowed from Faery Goddyss's fic "Short Stories with Tragic Endings." Because it is a kickass nickname, and, well, a kickass fic.

**Chapter 3- Dinner and A Show**

"Oh my god, can I come?!?!" Bebe squeals as she turns her entire body to me and shakes me almost violently. I open my eyes wide at my best friend, pleading for her to stop. She does, and I return to staring at myself in the mirror, finding any kind of sign that I'm still sick to get me out of this date that I set myself up for.

"You can't whore them both to yourself, Wendy. That's my job," she continues, all bubbly, and actually not the slightest bit ashamed of her promiscuity. "'Sides, Kyle's gotta get out more. He keeps locking himself in his room with Stan—its just not healthy."

"You can say that again," I mutter.

Bebe pauses, narrowing her eyes to comprehend what she had just said…but it doesn't sink in. Not that I'd expect it to. She has the thickest skull of them all. I love her, but Bebe fits right in the sea of intelligible faces and mindless numbskulls. She only gets by on her looks. This is another fact that she freely admits with no shame. "Well, then why can't I come?" she whines, switching tactics. This one isn't going to convince me either.

"Because its just of the two of us!" I'm speaking for Stan and me. "…And Kyle," I find myself adding, mentally slapping myself for making it so unbelievably obvious that we are a threesome and not a twosome like we should be.

A lot has changed in the past two days. I found out that my boyfriend could be fooling around with his best friend…then I decided I wanted nothing to do with him…then I decided to invite the stupid best friend on our date...then I decided I loved Stan after all and couldn't humiliate him that way. Now I'm in limbo. I sound like I almost accept Kyle as a bonus to our relationship. Do I? Is that what I SHOULD do?

Bebe snorts. "Sounds like a threesome to me." She giggles even more, digging through her makeup bag and reapplying the thick mascara she wears every day to school. We're in the first floor ladies bathroom, like we usually are right before lunch. "No fair, Wendy, you know how I'd like to take a bite out of that ass of his," she adds, growling and hissing. She's referring to Kyle, of course. If she were talking about Stan, she'd be knocked on the ground faster than it takes her to whip out that lipstick of hers.

She makes a kissy face in the mirror. "If you ask me, you've got it lucky. The two hottest boys in school on a single date. Damn, even _I'm_ jealous." She turns to me. "And that's saying a lot, sweetie."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks a bunch, Bee. I feel so much better."

She shifts her weight so that her butt is resting against the cold porcelain of the cheaply made sinks and cries out a little when it contacts her bare legs. Bebe in a mini-skirt is what I've come to expect everyday. This one is super mini, as I fail to even mention to her I can see her lacy thong. Something tells me that is intentional. "Sweetie, why'd you even invite him with you? It's clearly bothering you." This is her turn to be sensitive best friend now. She leans over to put her hand on my shoulder sympathetically.

I sigh. So far, all I've told her is that I've got a date with Stan tonight and Kyle is coming along. Because I asked him to. When she raised her eyebrows at that, I turned away and tried desperately to change the subject. She doesn't know anything about the issues I've been struggling with. She doesn't know anything about anything, for that matter. "I want to show Stan that I…" I grit my teeth, "…that I want to be Kyle's friend too."

Bebe snorts again, unable to contain seriousness for very long. "So you invite him along on your _date_? Damn girl, you're frisky! Plan to give him equal attention when you get back to Stan's place too?"

I shove her hand away, and in the process I shove her off the sink. I bend down, gripping the sides firmly and staring ahead of me into a reflection of a girl I no longer recognize. I have so much hatred, hurt, and confusion in my eyes. These are all foreign emotions to me. What happened to the oh-so happy in love girl I've paraded around as for my whole life? Ugh, I feel sick again.

It suddenly occurs to me that the easiest way to get Bebe to stop asking me questions about myself is get her to start talking about herself. "Hey, whatever happened with Kenny? I thought you two weren't gonna date anymore."

Bebe smiles. "Sweeeet-eee, we _don't_ date. Not all of us are squares like you and Stan. He's just nice to have around. You know, in case my toys break." I make a face, and she laughs. "OHMYGOD I forgot to tell you!!!…" And so it begins. Mission accomplished.

We walk out of the bathroom with her babbling my ear off about some trick Kenny taught her and how she would LOVE to use it on Kyle. Because, to Bebe, Kyle embodies everything she wants to have sex with. And she believes that one day, she'll get to experience that. All she has to do is act incredibly slutty around him and he'll eventually come around.

I fail to correct her. Partly for my own amusement.

We walk with her arm around my shoulder as we enter the lunchroom. All eyes are on us, I feel, like they all know. Plenty of this town would have shit to say to me if they knew what I think I know, and so I chalk it up to my paranoia. That and the core belief from the male population of this school that Bebe and I have something going on on the side. Just because we're always around each other. I always dismissed their judgment, finding it ridiculous that they would ever think such a thing. There IS such a thing has having a really, really close best friend.

That is why I never questioned Stan and his relationship with _his_ really, really close best friend. After all, whatever nights he was with Kyle, I was with Bebe. This was in the beginning though. After a while, Bebe and I just started to span the spectrum, getting further and further apart the more ditzy she became. The more brainy I became the more I realized I needed to settle in with someone who had at least half the brain power I did. And so I turned my attention to Stan. Problem was, he was still super into Kyle. It made it quite difficult for that transition to ever take place.

I don't think it ever did. I don't think he ever intended it to. And now…who knows what he wants? I NEVER became that close to Bebe. Not even our freshman year, when we would spend the night at each other's houses on school nights and stay up until we were falling asleep the next day in class…I didn't ONCE wonder what it would be like to be more than friends with her. I just didn't. It was never a fascination I had, and I was quite certain Stan wouldn't ever feel that way either. He was satisfied with where he was at.

Now I'm not so sure. I'm through being super angry with him until I can prove that he does, in fact, like Kyle like that. Cause if he does…then that stupid plethora of emotions I felt yesterday will probably come back into play. But until then, I can't be so certain that it is what it is.

And so I'll give them a chance to prove themselves tonight. On our weird…screwed up date thing.

---

I fiddle with the collar on my shirt one last time before relaxing and accepting it for what it is. I've never been this nervous to go out with Stan before. But, then again, I've never felt like I'm vying for his affections and getting him to prove something to me before. I stare back at my reflection. I've been saving this shirt for a special occasion, but I think it fits perfectly for tonight. Bebe helped me put this outfit together last minute, since this shirt could easily be worn with both a sexy skirt or nice khakis. Aaaand since Kyle will be our stowaway tonight, I'm thinking the sexy skirt will send the wrong message. So I chose the khakis instead. So now I stand here, in this cute and very revealing almost too tight shirt…come to think of it, this is more Bebe's style. No wonder she was all giggly when I mentioned I wanted to wear it. Whatever, I think I look pretty good in it.

I smooth out the wrinkles and impatiently look at my clock on my dresser. It is past 7, and I had asked Stan kindly to pick me up at 6:55 so we could swing around to get Kyle before heading off to the restaurant in downtown. He had picked out the restaurant, saying I'd be pleasantly surprised at how much "dough he's willing to spend". Trying to impress me? Or trying to impress Kyle…

I faintly hear a car pull up, even though my window is securely closed and latched. But, being that I'm in the front of the house, I can easily hear and see any happenings going on in our front yard. When I hear two voices, I run over to turn off my lights, crouch down, and separate my blinds a little to see what's going on.

"Will you stop fidgeting? You look great," I hear Stan's voice, loud and clear.

I can't believe it. He picked Kyle up before me. HE PICKED KYLE UP BEFORE ME. I watch closely.

Kyle balls his fists and knocks them against his side, to which Stan promptly outstretches his arms and rubs them up and down Kyle's long arms. "Why are you so nervous, dude?"

"Because she's never done anything like this before!" he squeaks out, looking for a way out. "She doesn't even like me, Stan."

"Well, maybe she does now," he figures.

Wrong.

"I don't know…don't you think this is really weird? It's your…date…with her." I can hear how he struggles to say the word "date".

I see Stan smile that gorgeous smile of his. "And my first chance to take you out too."

I ball my fists, feeling my breath quicken.

I watch as Stan slides his arm up around Kyle's neck, pulling him in closer. He begins saying something, but it's too low for me to hear, so I unlatch my window a little and pray to God it doesn't squeak when I open it. Thankfully, it releases with not much effort.

"…told me this, I was a little freaked out, but she's even invited you," is the last of what I pick up from Stan.

"What if she—"

"SHE DOESN'T!" Stan cries, louder than anything he's ever said. "I'm sorry it has to be this way, dude, but you know how this town is."

Kyle looks up to my window, his eyes settling coldly in mine, to which I immediately freak out. He can't possibly see me, its too dark. Still, I feel his gaze burning a hole through my blinds. "I don't feel right doing this to her. She loves you."

Stan sighs. "Ky, we've been over this already. Are you gonna do this thing tonight or not?"

"How can you do this to her?" Kyle quietly asks, and I'm thankful that he does. At least one of us can ask that question.

I half expect Stan to say some asshole-like remark. At least then it'd be easier for me to hate him. But no, he doesn't. I can barely make out his response, but it rings in my ears anyway. "It's not easy. I still care about her."

He cares about me. CARES about me. He doesn't love me, or, at least he doesn't tell his boyfriend that. Ugh, boyfriend. Is that what Kyle secretly is to him? I know I wasn't supposed to hear this conversation, but there are a lot of things I wasn't supposed to hear. I'm going to march down there right now and set some things straight. I stand up angrily and shove my window closed, pull the blinds back up, and stomp down the stairs. I grab my goat and turn the doorknob. When I open the door, I'm confronted with the chilled air of the night and a vision that I'd rather not remember—my boyfriend hugging his "best friend" tightly. Kyle sees me, his eyes going wide and instantly pulling away.

Just as I'm about to put my two cents in, Stan turns to face me. His eyes are glassy—even I can see it from this far away. He sniffs and straightens himself up, trying his best to appear presentable. "Are you ready?" he asks me in a timid and shaky voice.

"I…I…" is all Kyle can say, as he looks thoroughly guilty.

"Yes," I grumble, closing the door behind me and turning to lock it. My God, how did I get into this situation? Stan is crying. Stan never cries. What the hell is going on here? Are they really secretly together? I HAVE to prove this!

---

Dinner is going, unfortunately, very well. There are a few instances where I can see traces of their longing for each other, but I could easily say it's that best friend bond I was talking about earlier. Kyle was very gracious and let me sit in the front seat as he took the back, humming to himself and looking out the window. I know this because I watched the two like a hawk, noting how many times Stan peered into his rearview mirror at the boy. Seven times. In a five-minute drive. But, he could just be concerned for him, so I let this slide.

When we got to the restaurant, there were reservations for three under the name "Marsh" and I was immediately overwhelmed at the class of the atmosphere. I had no idea such a place even existed downtown. Perhaps there are some unearthed treasures in South Park. Had I known we were going to dine in such splendor, I would have taken the opportunity to wear that sexy skirt I was telling you about. I felt a bit underdressed as the women were decked out in fur coats and jewelry. Even my own boyfriend looked quite handsome in a suit jacket and collared shirt. Kyle did too, if I paid much attention to him.

The host guided us to our seats, which was a plush booth with a candle and a rose vase on top of the maroon tablecloth. The lights were very dim, and there was the slightest hint of piano bar music playing in the background. It wasn't until halfway through the appetizer, when I had made a stop in the girls' room, that I noticed the music was coming from an actual piano player and jazz singer. All this on a Tuesday night. Where did Stan ever find the cash to afford such a lavish place?

The booth was rounded, and I was asked to sit in the middle. All of the booths were, so we really had to no choice. I took my seat and Kyle scooted in on my left side, Stan to my right. I was the dividing line, and for a brief moment, I saw the gleam in Stan's eyes die down when Kyle asked me to sit there. I noticed his eyes widen, as if to say "not the place" or just a simple "NO," and I smirked. Stan wanted to take Kyle out on this date, but he got stuck with me instead. And Kyle didn't want to be here cause it's an unbelievably twisted and uncomfortable situation. What a glorious night this would be.

But, truthfully, it wasn't bad for a while. Kyle ignored us, for the most part, giving Stan and I time to talk amongst ourselves. Every once in a while Stan would reach over me and hit Kyle's elbow, asking him "what's up" and wanting to know why he was being such a "dud." I giggled at the thought of him calling him a dud, and at the possibility of a fight between the two later should it arise. I don't know, it doesn't feel like Kyle is even _trying_ to win Stan's affections over me. And clearly, Stan is all eyes for me. He's finally made a comment about my outfit, which I was hoping he would.

"Damn you look sexy tonight, Wendy," he whispers in my ear. "That shirt is to die for."

I swear I hear Kyle growl at that remark, but I choose to ignore it.

"Wendy, you DO look very nice," he instead voices, glaring at Stan. "And I want to thank you for inviting me tonight…though…I'm not really sure what good it's done. You two should be alone."

"Shut up, dude, you're staying right here," Stan decides as Kyle leans over to get his coat and begins scooting out of the booth. He reaches over the table (almost knocking over our water glasses) and pushes him right back down on the seat.

Kyle glares even harder this time. "Why? I'm being ignored anyway!"

Stan lets out a puff of air and then says nothing. I just look down at my food, not willing to admit that we totally are. So what?

Kyle nods to himself. "My point exactly. Later."

"Kyle SIT DOWN," Stan commands, reaching up and pushing his shoulder back down again. This is causing quite a stir in the otherwise quiet restaurant. I'm afraid it'll make a big scene—we just don't need that right now. I'm not even sure why Stan's putting up a fight—it's obvious to me that Kyle doesn't matter to him right now.

I peer up at Kyle, who's licking the outside of his front teeth like he wants to say something, but is forcing himself to calm down first. "Stan, this was a stupid idea. I knew it would be."

"How can it be stupid? You're here-"

And suddenly, I'm non-existent! It's like I'm sitting between an arguing couple. And that's EXACTLY what it feels like to me. Kyle's upset he's being ignored, Stan wants to keep him there for…sick, torturous reasons.

"But YOU'RE FUCKING IGNORING ME!" Kyle screams, everyone looking up from their tables at the fuming redhead. "Goodnight Wendy," he says, turning to me and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I don't know why, he doesn't HAVE to. Maybe it's to make Stan jealous. He smiles at me reassuringly, then turns to glare at Stan, and then exits the premise. We haven't even gotten to our main courses yet.

Stan throws his head back in annoyance, and without even asking me if it's okay, he pushes himself out of the booth and heads after Kyle.

Kyle, who just stormed out. Kyle, who my boyfriend brought out thinking this was their date. Well, I sure showed them.

I sigh. Wendy, you are smarter than this. Now you're sitting alone in a booth big enough for four people when you know very well they are arguing outside over why Stan is ignoring him when he asked him to come along, when really, I'm the one that asked him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It is SO glaringly obvious about those two now, Stan couldn't even possibly deny it if I brought it up. Does he really think I'm that oblivious? What guy gets angry with his best friend for spending time with his girlfriend? And what guy runs _after_ his best friend when he's finally had enough of seeing the guy flirt with his girlfriend?

A guy that has fallen for his best friend. That's who. And now I know what I have to do.

"Excuse me, sir?" I flag down the waiter promptly. "My boyfriend and I will be right back, I need to go and check on them to see if everything is okay."

He eyes me suspiciously, like we're the type of couple to eat the appetizers and then run away. I set my purse and coat in the booth. "I'm going to leave this here, is that okay?"

He nods, a wave of relief spreading across his face. "Take care of your matters and your food shall be out shortly," he tells me, once again assuming the confident server persona he has shown us all evening.

I wiggle my way out of the booth quietly, standing up and brushing off any lint or food that may be on me. Then I casually and curiously take a few steps to the front of the restaurant, thankful the foyer is just as dimly lit as the rest of the place. There is a coat closet to the right of the double glass door opening, and I slyly slip into it before Stan can see me. He, of course, is standing dumbly _right_ in front of the double doors. Kyle has his back turned to him, calling someone on his phone.

I peer out of the closet just enough to see their faces. Stan is pinching the bridge of his nose. "Christ Kyle, will you just come back in there? It wasn't that bad."

I hear Kyle's flip phone flip closed, and he almost violently spins around to face Stan, only inches away from his features. "NOT THAT BAD?!?!" He looks around, calmly composing himself. "Stan, I TOLD you this was a bad idea, just let me go."

"No!" Stan weakly retorts. "Come on, dude, she's gonna think something's up if we don't get back in there soon."

"Well good!" Kyle fumes. "LET her think something is up. I can't do this. You shouldn't be either. Its wrong—you're just…rubbing it in her face!"

I'm starting to like Kyle a little more than Stan right now.

"I am NOT!"

"And you're rubbing it in mine. I don't have to take that shit, Stan. You can fawn all over your girlfriend if you want…I don't have to be around to see it."

Stan sighs. "It's not _my_ fault they can't accept this, Kyle! We've gotta do what we can…"

"Who's talking anything about _them_ right now, Stan!? This concerns Wendy! And you! And ME! And I'm fucking sick of it. I can't do this anymore."

I see Stan's expression change from anger and guilt to sorrow and fright. "What?" he asks with a dry throat.

Kyle looks twice both ways before leaning back into Stan again. "You and I both knew this wouldn't last. How can we keep up something that we can't even show? I'm sick of pretending to be okay with you two." He leans back. "It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to me. See ya later, Stan." And with that, he takes his final exit, leaving Stan alone in the foyer.

I feel the insides of me liquefy as I crumble at my very foundation. I sink slowly to the ground inside this coffin-closet, trying my hardest to not cry out. How could he _do_ this to me? How long has it been going on? Did it mean anything to him? Are they…intimate? Why couldn't he just tell me?

This realization hits me like a bolt of lightning. I AM his cover up. I'm the girl that he's supposed to be with, but he doesn't want to be with me. He doesn't want to be with any girl…he wants to be with _him_. And he may still care about me, but that's not stopping him from fulfilling his carnal desires.

He's only with me because he's too scared to tell anyone this. The only person he thinks knows is the boy he wants to be with. I know its not just some stupid boy thing, and I know it's not just a crush. How is all of this coming to me right now? I don't know…but I DO know that is what this is. Stan is in love with Kyle, and Kyle just told him that's it. The end. It's over.

I should be happy. I should be ecstatic. Now Stan is free to stop this urge and come back to me. This is the happiest news I've gotten since my little world was shaken up.

So why do I feel so miserable?

---

After the outburst/breakup, Stan wasn't much for talking. I tried my best to coax him into splurging for dessert, knowing what a Crème Brulee fanatic he was. I even offered to pick up the check, god knows why. I'm crazy when Stan's sad. It makes me do things that I know I can't do…but if it helps push a smile on his face, then it's worth it.

Instead, he lamely pretended that everything was okay when, clearly, I knew it was not. Anybody could've known. If it'd been any more obvious, the piano player would have stopped his live show to walk over and say, "So you just got your heart trampled…LET'S SING A SONG!" And Big Gay Al would magically appear from out of thin air singing "I'm Super" in his tighty whities while sucking down Skittles by the handful.

HOW did I _not_ see this before? How could I not see that my boyfriend was falling for another…boy? I shudder. Every time I say those very words, it still brings chills down my spine. I mean, girls are supposed to love boys, and boys are supposed to love those girls back. It's common knowledge—practically a law in South Park, at least. Which maybe is the reason I never noticed it too. I mean, we're not _looking_ for these things. No girl wants to EVER believe she turned her boyfriend gay. She wants to ignore this like a bad dream. And she warps reality so much that she doesn't even detect the slightest bit of homosexual tendencies.

Not even when her boyfriend chooses to spend time with his best friend over her because he's got to study for some lame test that he never cared about ever before. Or when her boyfriend constantly cuts intimate moments with her short because he's "gotta head on over to Ky's house". Or when her boyfriend has a pet name for his best friend. Or when her boyfriend is heard through not-so-thick walls getting sucked off _by_ his best friend.

…I think reality is starting to hit me in a very bad way. A way that makes the world seem like it's collapsing and that constant rain cloud is pouring down only on me. Stan drove me home after the dinner, seemingly worse for the wear, but still trying to present himself with no worries. He leaned over and gave me a kiss (to which I accepted only because I had no idea how to turn it down and then explain why), leaned over me to open my door, and gestured me out of his car. If I had taken the time and effort to follow him, I can guess with little to no brainpower exactly where that car ended up and whom he ended his night with.

Because I know Stan. And I know how pigheaded he is. And I know that when he wants something…he gets it. This is a little known fact about the man who's generous to others, but he DOES have his selfish side. I don't believe for a second he's done trying to persuade Kyle to change his mind.

As this all circles around my brain like a vulture to a dead horse, I hear the sound of ringing from a distance. God, I hate ringing. Damn phone—I curse it to hell.

"Wendy, snap out of it!" I hear someone say.

"What's up with her?" I hear another. Moments later, I feel a shockingly numb sensation filter through my right arm, beginning at my elbow. This jolts me out of my daze as I see one of the guys at my school speed walking away. I realize that he must have hit my arm to alert me and I notice that I have, in fact, zoned out in Calculus class.

…wait a minute. I ZONED OUT IN CALCULUS!!! I scramble to pick up my notes and head out of the room before the bell signifies my next class period. I avoid Mr. Harman's cold stare as I swivel past his desk to the safety of the hallway.

I never zone out in school. Never! School is so interesting to me—I hardly find the time to soak up all the knowledge I receive, let alone zone out because I'm bored. I _know_ that makes me sound like a geek, but let me tell you. Wendy Testaburger does not get by relying on her natural smarts. I'm book smart, and that's because I work damn hard to be. By spacing out on a lecture, it means I'll have to concentrate extra hard to feel completely competent in whatever skill we covered. And I don't even know that!!!

Oh no. I feel my heart rate increasing to dangerous levels as the hallway becomes a mass blur of people rushing to their classes. I don't know what this feels like—I'm never tardy for my next class. But the high school isn't too big; I might make it in ti-

**_BBBBBRRRRRRIIIIINNNNGGGG_**

Maybe not.

I slow my pace immediately and sigh as I look up to the clock. I swear those five minutes weren't as long as usual. As I reluctantly step into Advanced Lit, I see Miss Browning eyeing me. And I know it's over.

"_Miss_ Testaburger," she says strictly with that cliché teacher look in her eye. I wasn't her favorite student to begin with (I don't know why, I do EVERYTHING right in there), so this should really be good. I glance over the classroom and notice Kyle's stupid and guilty green eyes staring at me behind an open book. I grit my teeth. Miss Browning _loves_ Kyle. She's even asked him to write some responsive essay to something we read so she can enter it into a contest. He doesn't even LIKE advanced lit…or so Stan told me. He's more of a math nerd.

My eyes eventually land on Miss Browning and her oddly coordinated outfit again, just in time to see her fold her arms. "Why you feel the need to interrupt my class time when it is already in session, I'm not entirely sure. But I can tell you, Miss Testaburger, that it shan't happen again." Miss Browning likes to use words that aren't part of the everyday English language to feel better about herself.

She's really the only teacher that doesn't like me, and this bugs me. Of course I'd have to be late to HER class. I nod politely and walk over, taking my seat next to Kyle. Yes, Kyle. My assigned seat is next to the boy who is (_was_) secretly dating my boyfriend.

For the first time in my life, I want to strike up conversation with him. I _want_ to ask him how he's doing now that he and Stan are no longer together. How he's handling his life without my boyfriend. I mean, it's only been a day and a half, but by the way Stan's been moping about, I'm thinking Kyle's got to have some sadness to him as well.

"You're late," he whispers to me, his lips safely concealed behind the book he uses to pretend he's reading. He changes it about every week, but Miss Browning fails to notice that he alternates from a list of about five books. Once he's used up all five, he rotates to that first one again.

"I got held up," I lie. No use in telling him the truth. I know he wouldn't do the same for me. Why is he even talking to me? Oh yeah, cause we try to be civil toward each other.

He snorts. "You're really in for it now." I'm about ask him what that means when I look up to see Miss Browning storming over to my desk. She slams a detention paper down right in front of my eyes with the reason filled out as "disruptive to my class." What a crock of shit. I accept it with a sarcastic smile, tucking it away into my binder. She scowls back at me before assuming her throne at the front of the classroom once again.

I spend the remainder of class desperately trying not to have a nervous breakdown. My first detention. On the same week that I missed my first day. Every once and awhile I peer over Kyle's shoulder to see him scribble something down on a piece of paper, and since I know he doesn't take notes in here, I assume it's a letter for Stan. Do boys even _write_ letters to one another? I try to get a better glimpse, but each time I scoot my chair closer to him, he takes notice and sort of contracts his body tighter and tighter until he's a huddled mass attached to the chair.

When the bell rings Kyle rips the note out of his spiral notebook and folds it up, stuffing it in his back pocket. I so badly want to "accidentally" collide with him, grab in there, and yank it out. But it'd be little hard convincing him I wasn't trying to grab his ass just like the rest of the girls do. So instead, I just watch him collect his books, smile politely at me, and exit the room. Thank GOD it's time for lunch.

---

"I can't believe that bitch gave you a detention for _that_!" Stan cries, overly livid. Maybe it's just me being paranoid, but ever since I found out about his secret, all of his concern seems fake. Yeah, it's probably just me.

"Its fine," I sigh, not really fine with any of it. Nothing about this entire week is "fine" by my standards.

"I know you don't deserve that, Wends. You're the smartest girl in our entire class," he responds. Girl, not person. Then it would mean I'm smarter than Kyle, and he can't say that.

I shrug. "Doesn't mean the meanest teacher can't hate me and give me a detention for being exactly 20 seconds late." He squeezes my shoulders with his arm as we walk out to the front entrance of the school. "I think she was just waiting to get me somehow," I muse.

"Man, that ain't right," he says, shaking his head at the ground. We reach the double doors, and now it is time to part.

I can't deny that I haven't enjoyed these past few days. Without Stan and Kyle's bonding, Stan's been free again. Granted, it's only been technically yesterday and today, but I can see a change in our habits toward each other. Sure he's still depressed, that much is obvious. But without Kyle around, he has no one to turn to. And so he turns to me.

I stop in my tracks and he grabs my hand, staring almost longingly into my eyes. "I've gotta be there in five minutes, Stan. I really should just stay here."

He smiles faintly and brings a hand to my neck, pulling me in and kissing my lips tenderly. "Have fun. I'm free tonight if you wanna stop by."

This is what I mean. He would NEVER be free tonight if it weren't for the break up. But I sigh sadly. "My mom is going to be so pissed off that I got a detention, I won't be allowed to see you for awhile." Ironically, I know that's the truth. Stan gets some free time, and I'm grounded. I love how life works.

His shoulders noticeably slump. Maybe he does need me, after all. What if…what if Kyle is some experimentation and he really is confused but doesn't want to lose me and he thinks he will if he just tells me his feelings but he really won't because I'd like to think I'd understand even though its really tough and I don't have any idea what he's going through-

"Wends?" he asks, knocking me out of my run-on sentence reverie.

"Yeah?" I ask, shaking my head clear of any thoughts.

"I said, you know where I live if you ARE allowed out, right?" His blue eyes sparkle and are filled with such hope that I might be able to sneak out tonight to come see him.

I giggle. Why? I'm not giddy. I'm not even the slightest bit happy. But dammit, those innocent eyes torture me. "I know where you live, Stan." And with that, he wraps me in his arms. I literally sink into warmth as he squeezes me tight. I feel his chest rise and fall, and my hands, which were squished in with my body, maneuver their way out until I'm hugging him back.

He pulls away and hoists his backpack up his right arm. "See ya later, sweetie," he tells me with a wicked hot smile before pulling his toboggan over his head and zipping up his jacket. I watch him walk away from me, his hands stuffed in his pocket as he braves the harsh cold the winter has to offer.

I turn to head to detention when I spy a collection of papers scattered nearby on the ground. My head swivels in Stan's direction once more, noting that his backpack is unzipped and flopping carelessly in the wind. As I bend down to pick up the papers, I see several of them folded smaller than he folds his notes from school. After having been with him for this long, I know exactly how he takes notes—he jots down what he considers important, folds the paper once, sticks it in a notebook or textbook, and forgets about it until the day of the test. He's got millions of folded papers sticking out of his books at any given time.

But these are different. I scoop it all up with my free hand and head on back to detention. I make it into the room a minute before the last bell rings, and I sign in. I show my slip to the monitor, though I don't think he cares one way or another. He looks over his glasses at the few empty seats occupying the room, and I am left to choose a seat for myself.

Having never been IN detention before, I sit down quietly, eyeing all the troublemakers around me. I see Bebe's latest conquest in the corner trying to cover up his headphones, though I see him flipping through his mp3 player quite conspicuously. Over in the other corner is none other than THE troublemaker himself, Eric Cartman. Nobody in my circle of friends really associates with him anymore. I think we all got tired of his shit a while back, and decided we're better off without the racist, egotistical, selfish asshole. He snorts when he notices me back, and I bring my hand to shield any of his further comments. Kenny whistles at me from the direction I was first looking. I wave hi to him, and he mouths the words "lookin' good" to me. It makes me want to vomit—I am NOT up for sloppy seconds, thank you.

Other than those three, I really don't recognize too many faces. I'm in the advanced classes for everything, so I highly doubt I'd see anyone from the "smart classes" sitting here, humiliating themselves like I am. I pull out my biochemistry book and begin reviewing the material from today's lecture.

About halfway through the first sentence, I remember those notes I picked up from the hallway. Instantly, I dig quietly into my book bag, retrieving the handful of crumpled paper. I sort out the ones that are actual notes with the ones that look like…personal notes. Notes like the note Kyle was writing. I feel my body temperature rise as the thoughts begin churning in my brain again. I hastily open the first one and read it:

_Ky, this is stupid. I don't get it, why can't we work together?_

_Because it's an individual project, dumbass._

_But you know I don't understand the first thing between a marsupial and a mammal._

_Stan, this is economics class. We're talking about macroeconomics and the effect that John Maynard Keynes had on modern day trends of economical growth._

_Oh…What??!_

_Nevermind._

Ha. Okay that first one was a note written in class, I bet. Aw, poor Stanny. He never understands anything unless it is written in simplified terms. And I love him for it. The next note is mildly concerning, but only because I know what they're talking about.

_What are we doing dude._

_I just explained it to you…again._

_You know what I mean. Why can't I come over after school?_

_We've discussed this already. Now is not the time. Bells about to ring. I'm out._

I take a deep breath and fold this one back up. Stan is really sad. I can tell this, he usually doesn't dwell on anything unless he's _really_ upset. When I pull out the third letter, I open it up, noticing immediately that it's not an exchange of words but something written by Stan in true letter format.

_I didn't mean for things to end up this way. All I ever wanted was you to know how much you mean to me. You should know that by now. I may not be the best at showing it, but fuck Ky, I'm the happiest I've been in a long time, and it's when I'm around you that I feel that way. What I did was stupid—it hurt you, I'm pretty sure it hurt Wendy too. I feel like shit too, so you're right. That was stupid. But I'm being serious when I tell you that I want to make this work…somehow. I'm just not sure what to tell you to make you believe that I feel this way. So I'm writing this…and I'm probably gonna chicken out of sending it to you just cause I know it won't do any good._

_I love you._

_Stan_

…

Stan wrote this. Stan WROTE THIS! He wrote down his feelings and then decided that he wasn't going to send it out. So wait, does Kyle know all of this? Does Kyle not know Stan loves him? Is that why he can't send it out to him? I bite my lip, looking around the room. I try to focus my attention something—ANYTHING—else, but my eyes keep drifting back to that last line. "_I love you._" He loves him. Stan loves Kyle.

All my life I thought I was the one and only for Stan Marsh. I've come to find out that isn't the case at all. I can't decide what I feel most of—heartbreak, betrayal, sympathy, fury, confusion, desperation, or emptiness. But I do know one thing. The heart of my boyfriend belongs to someone.

And that someone is not me.

I silently pray that detention lets out soon so I can go back home to my wallowing.


	5. More Than A Crush

This just kept going and going and going…I couldn't find a suitable place for it to stop. Oops, so this is kinda long, but not by much. I'm long-winded anyway, hehe. Dunno why, but I get strange inspirations for the various projects I set myself to do, and tonight, I felt the need to update this thing. I watched Brokeback Mountain again, gaining another perspective on other's POV. You can think what you want about that movie, but I still think it's pretty good. Especially when I watch it with the subtitles on to know what the hell they're saying. It makes a lot more sense that way :) 

ANYWAY, Uh…not much to say. I don't know how long this story is gonna be anymore, cause it's not so much following the outline for my chapters as it is just exploring all the concepts I wanted my chapters to explore. Still not sure how I feel about it, but you guys seem to like it, so I keep plugging away. Enjoy!

**Chapter 4- More Than A Crush**

It's Thursday night and I figure the field has to be deserted by now. I walk up quietly to the little ticket booth, taking a look around. Everything looks so different from a Friday night. There's no lights, no crowd, nothing. Right now, it looks almost abandoned. Forgotten.

I just needed to get out for a walk. Sure enough, mom was beyond reconcilable when I told her the reason for my late arrival back home, and she sentenced me to one week in my room. She wasn't sure _how_ to ground me for it, cause she'd never had to ground me before. But that didn't mean she wasn't plenty angry. I quietly snuck out minutes after she ordered me to my room, just to get some fresh air and clear my head.

I take to the track, walking in strides as I round the corner. When South Park got a little bit of money, they splurged for an all-weather track. Good thing too. We really did have all kinds of weather in this town.

My pace slows as I hear a murmur of voices; increasing in volume the closer I get to the home side bleachers. The bleachers are really nice too. Once having been old, rickety metal pieces of crap, the alumni club spent money to develop this big almost complex, where there is the announcer office at the top, and the restrooms are built into the side. You have to walk around the restrooms and weave your way through some structural supports before you get behind the bleachers. It was said that it kept most of the rambunctious kids away from going back there, but the student body knew better. We knew it was just a better place to make out. You couldn't get caught unless someone walked back there to catch you.

The closer I get the bleachers, the more I realize those voices I hear are coming from behind that very structure I had just described. Its probably some couple feeling the need to get it on behind there—after all, _I _would have done it had I been given the chance by Stan. He never wanted to go back there. Said it wasn't the place to be romantic.

Which is why I almost choke on my gum when I hear HIS voice. Not anyone else's. Man, I'm making it a habit of listening in on him when he thinks I won't be. I quietly tiptoe my way back behind the restrooms to get within earshot of what he's saying. I can't see anything though.

"Tell me what I gotta do, Ky. I'm a mess without you," he pleads.

Kyle. Of course. Who else would I expect for him to drag back there? My shoulders fall as I press my body to the backside of the restroom. I see a mysterious glaze of grape something right beside my shoulder, and its not until I've sunken into the wall that it occurs to me I'm laying in it. I silently scream out of disgust and search for a better place to camp out.

"I don't know what to tell you, Stan. I've told you how I feel. I can't keep this up," is Kyle's reply.

I scan the area and see that the trashcans are piled together in enough numbers I could possibly climb onto them and hoist myself onto the roof of the restroom. Hell, I'm already covered in last weeks' candy vomit; I might as well dirty myself up more.

"But dude, I…I miss you."

"I miss you too, but its not like we're really missing much anyway. We have to fucking hide everything we do," Kyle bites back. I can't believe how quiet I'm being! That, or they just don't care about anything else right now.

Ah, now I have a clear view of them. I hover low, lying down on the sick, sick gravel pit roof. The gravel sinks with me, and I'm covered enough so I can only see them if I lift my head up and peek out over the side. They are standing in the middle of the only light shining through, so that I can see their silhouettes, but not their faces.

"I wanna be with you Kyle!" Stan confesses. "What can I do to show you that?"

Kyle crosses his arms. "What about Wendy?"

I hear Stan sigh. "What _about_ Wendy? Man, you know this is the only way we can do this."

"Dude, she's a nice girl. Maybe if you just told her about things—"

"No, I CAN'T tell her! Kyle," Stan sighs again, "Wendy is like a god-send. Or that's how my parents look at her. If I did anything to mess that up, I'd be in the doghouse for sure. I can't tell her."

"And you think it's gonna be easier for her to find out on her own?" Kyle huffs. He looks another direction and then back to Stan. "Unless you never plan on telling her."

"She's the only way we can do THIS!" Stan yells, quickly quieting himself down upon survey of the land around him.

"That is fucked up."

"Kyle, Wendy is the only thing that keeps people from suspecting about us. They always give us shit, you know that. With Wendy there, they can't justify it, cause they know we're together. The minute she's gone, it's all gone. Our friends, our family, our reputation-"

"FUCK our reputations Stan!" He leans in very close to Stan. "Look, I _know_ it'll be scary and I _know_ we'll get a ton of ridicule from people we thought were friends, but in the long run, it's going to be better!"

I'm starting to get an idea of why Stan hasn't told me yet. And why he probably never intended on telling me. Same reason I thought, only it's much, much deeper than that. He's afraid of who he is. Stan is gay, and he's afraid of what that'll do to his ideal predisposed life. I'd feel bad for him if I wasn't the blanket he was using to cover up his true identity. Kyle's right…if only he had told me. I _think_ I would have understood. Maybe…

I watch Stan bring his arms around and grab Kyle by the shoulders. "Only a few more months and we're out of here, Kyle. And then I can break up with Wendy without any hard feelings." He pauses. "You know I love her. I do, she's such an awesome girl. I'm just not-"

"In love with her anymore, yeah I know," Kyle says impatiently. "I'm pretty damn sick of that phrase Stan. It's not like I _like_ hearing about how you still love her, even after all this time."

It makes me wonder how much time "all this time" has been. I continue to listen, finding myself unable to tear away from what is unfolding before me. Are they reconciling? Kyle doesn't look like he's willing to give an inch.

"Well you don't stay with a girl and plan a life together and _not_ still love her, dude. This is fucking killing me to not tell her. But you know what my parents would do if they found out about us. My dad, he always tells me how he's worked so hard to overcome shit. He's told us time and time again to not fuck things up. I _know_ he would look at this as a fuck up."

Kyle sighs exasperatedly. "And you think MY mom will throw us a party? Come on Stan, you know her. You know she'll probably have a heart attack because her only birth son won't be able to bring her biological grandchildren." I see Stan open his mouth to say something, but Kyle shuts him up by continuing. My vision is adjusting better as I can begin to make the expressions on their faces. "But I'd tell her too bad and not think twice about it, you know why?"

Stan shrugs in Kyle's arms.

"Because I love you."

My heart stops. Jesus _CHRIST_ they've fallen in love with each other enough to say "I love you"?!?! HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON!?!? I KNEW Stan was in love with Kyle, but it's not the type of thing boys say to each other very often. Or, at least, not to another boy. Does Stan say it back? Will Stan say it back? It's taking him an awfully long time to respond…

"I love you too," he responds, smiling. My boyfriend. Just said. "I love you." To another person. To a man. And he meant it in the way he used to tell me. This is nothing like seeing it written on a note I know he didn't send. This is…real. This is painful.

This little exchange between the two causes Kyle's body to loosen up as he narrows the gap between the two, causing the light that was between them disappear. Stan pulls away, quietly promising, "I'll tell her soon. This will all be over soon, okay?" And apparently that's enough reassurance for Kyle as he devours my boyfriends face again. At this point, I can plainly see their tongues clashing wildly against each other and everything. Whether God gave me the gift of sudden night vision or what, I'm quietly cursing him for it.

And I not so quietly curse what I see next. Stan breaks apart from Kyle's lips, and I can actually see the saliva formed from the both of them detach and remain on each other's mouths. It's so gross, but I can't peel my eyes away. I watch in awe as I see my boyfriend's mischievous grin as he grabs a hold of Kyle's jeans. Guess they've made up.

"Are we okay?" he asks, his hand massaging the material, which I have noticed has tightened immensely in the past few seconds.

"Stan, we've gotta ta—uuughhh" Kyle instead moans, closing his eyes and dropping his shoulders. Stan continues to massage, but he also skillfully manages to unbutton the top button and then zip Kyle's zipper all the way down without even really trying. I'm impressed, but then again, he was usually always able to help me out of my clothes that quickly as well.

Ugh, I shouldn't be watching this. I should jump off this roof right now, making a noisy racket, and scaring the shit out of the two very conspicuous lovers. I mean, Lord, anyone could be watching them. They were confessing their feelings pretty loudly. Maybe they thought no one would be walking around the track at…8:34 on a Thursday night.

…They're probably right. It makes me curious as to how many times they meet here. Or how many times they have. Or if they have scheduled days. This is a strange fascination that I find both repulsive and heartbreaking. And yet, as I watch Stan's head lower down to Kyle's abdomen, I find it impossible to look away. It's this crazy addiction I have—to prove in my head that I'm _not_ crazy. That Stan really IS doing stuff with Kyle. To my heart, it is clear by now. But my brain just won't register. And so I look on.

Kyle shifts his entire body and lets out a helpless sigh as Stan's head reaches its destination. He reaches inside Kyle's boxers and grabs his penis, which is shockingly erect and comparatively bigger than Stan's. Why am I watching this…

And I see Stan open his mouth wide enough to engulf Kyle's entire length, and Kyle's hands shoot out into Stan's hair, massaging it much in the way that Stan's done with mine before. I watch Kyle's face contort to an almost painful expression, as if all his muscles in his body have tensed up and are refusing to relax. All the muscles in his face scrunch up this way, and remain this way until Stan begins bobbing his head. _WHY_ do I keep torturing myself like this…

Stan's hair becomes rhythmic, much like the rest of his head, and Kyle's hands sort of guide the speed Stan is going. "Oh fuck Stan…you really can't…convince me this...way…" Kyle weakly retorts as Stan sucks hungrier and faster. Even _I_ am not buying that. He's plenty convinced.

I see his stomach muscles contract as he pushes his backside away from Stan and cries "Shit, shit, shit!" He reaches out for the wall, and Stan's head follows his backwards steps, his hands firmly planted on Kyle's infamous ass. I see the evolution of Kyle's face go from complete pain (probably from holding it in), to intense pleasure (letting it out), to overall euphoric bliss. The way they've maneuvered, it is now impossible for me to see Stan's face, but when he pulls away, I don't see him spit anything to the ground. My eyes are glued to the unbelievable sight as Kyle hastily brings Stan's head and body back up to his height, and hungrily attacks his lips. They clumsily fall back onto the solid concrete wall behind Kyle, Kyle's body slamming up against it as Stan explores his body with his hands.

That thing…what I heard in the bedroom. I think I just caught the live show. And I've never—no NEVER—seen Stan this aggressive. This…thirsty for passion. And we've been sleeping together for four years now. The cold, hard truth slaps me in the face once again as I see the two boys before me tangled up into one unidentifiable being.

And as heartbreaking as it is to watch this sight, and as unforgivably angry at Stan as I am right now, I'm beginning to see his side of the story. And that scares me. I can't be strong and stand up to him if I feel sorry for him. Feel angry, Wendy. Be pissed off, he's CHEATING on you!

…That's _exactly_ what he's doing. He's cheating on me. Only its with someone who doesn't have the same assembled parts as I do. And I won't ever be able to…have those…

I feel a single tear streak down my face, making that part of my cheek cold. I sniff quietly, but refuse to let anything else come out until I'm off of this damn roof. It suddenly occurs to me that I'm not going to be able to get back down as stealthily as I got up. I'm going to make a HUGE noise, and for some reason, I don't want that. At least not yet.

I've got to give Stan a chance. A chance to come clean. I mean, he said that to Kyle, right? That he would tell me, but he was scared with how I'd react. He'd think I'd be just like everyone else in this hick town, right? Which, honestly, makes no sense to me. I mean, when I was little there were stranger things have happened. Why is it that their insignificant brains can't comprehend and accept homosexuality? I suddenly feel above the world in my coming-of-age thought, and realize I'm probably up-to-date with the rest of the world anyway. South Park is so far behind times.

So I've got to present the opportunity for him to confess before I go ballistic. It could be for nothing. If I let him know I'm completely okay with it, then he'll more inclined to tell me about his secret rendezvous.

…

Oh, who am I kidding? I am **not** okay with it. Not even close. As I watch them still—faces smashed together and grunting like animals—I feel empty. Hollow. Like someone has zapped the life right out of me. And the life I once knew is gone. Replaced now is this fear for myself, that I'll never know what caused Stan to see Kyle differently. Was it me? Did I turn him away? I feel like I've been a good girlfriend. I couldn't have seen it coming. I never even suspected until it punched me in the gut.

What caused him to turn away from me? What did I do wrong? How can someone love someone but still treat them this way? How can he _cheat_ on me?! How can he do this to Kyle?! What's worse, how can he live with himself!?! I know Stan. I know the type of guy he is, and this has to eating away at him. He's starting to crumble, I can see it even as he gropes another man right before my eyes.

And this is why I have to get him to confess. Only then can we move to the next step. Whatever that may be.

Their kissing noises die down, and Kyle is the first to pull away. I hear him chuckle, and playfully push Stan back. "You really know how to get your point across."

"I'm good with oral presentations." To this, Kyle grins, and Stan extends his hand. "Ready to get back? I gotta call Wendy and see what the damage from this afternoon is."

And then it hits me again. I'm sick of being beaten up by these realizations, but every time he mentions my name it's a slap in the face. At least he still thinks about me…

Kyle grabs his hand and swings it back and forth, gaily. Ha, nice word there. "Tell her I said 'hi'," he says meekly, but I can tell he wants to say so much more. He keeps his mouth shut, just like I do. Like Stan is our master and we obey him to make him happy. It would make me sick if I didn't know that to secretly be the probable truth. Cause really, Stanley Marsh isn't looking too good in my eyes right now. I didn't think he was in Kyle's either.

I guess that's what love does to you.

As soon as they're out of eyesight, I rise up, crawl over to the edge of the building and swing my legs over to the side. I hoist myself over the metal piping and drop the ground about 4 ft below. My feet sting only momentarily as I gain my balance, brush off my shirt, and begin walking home.

---

On the walk home, I contemplated following the two back. I'm sure my predictions about what would happen would have been correct had I done so, and I decided that wouldn't be good for my self-esteem right now. It's hanging by a thread right now as it is.

So I took my own route, walking hastily, almost at the speed of a slow jog. My breath came out in puffs of cloud as my body temperature raised, contrasting to that of the outside air. I dug my hands into my pocket, shielding my crying face into my oversized scarf, a Christmas present from Stan a year ago. It was violet—my favorite color. I once used to think of nothing more satisfying than wearing a warm, wooly beautiful scarf given to me by my true love. Now all I could think of was how fast I could destroy it.

All of my distracted thought caused me to head full-steam into the front door, not thinking twice about how I had to sneak out or why I had to in the first place. Needless to say, mother was in an uproar and re-sent me back up to my room, adding more days onto this seemingly endless torture.

Now, as I sit in the dark confines of my room, I pick at the once-comforting scarf with mother's sewing kit. Once I get done unknotting one row, I take to another, the only light coming from the moon that illuminates the scarf almost angelically. But I know better. And as the fourth to last kitted row becomes unraveled, I breathe fire and burn the rest up.

Or not. But my head feels ready to explode with frustration the more and more frustration I take out on that innocent scarf. I begin to sob uncontrollably, now pissed at myself for deliberately ruining my favorite winter item, and curse Stan for bringing me to the brink of insanity. I drop the sewing needle to the floor and cover my face to stifle my wails. Crying into the pillow, I look down at the long, continuous piece of yarn that used to be my scarf. Damn him! Damn Stan!

And damn Kyle too. If it weren't for him, my boyfriend wouldn't have turned gay. I wouldn't be shredding my favorite possessions if he never existed. I wouldn't be unhappy in the slightest.

Except that my boyfriend would still be gay. Because I know you don't just 'turn' that way. I know you always just 'are'. And you can try to deny it, you can try to cover it up, but it's always going to be there.

And I KNOW this. But goddammit it doesn't make any sense! I shouldn't be a victim to this! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG! I weep until there is no more liquid for me to expel, and then I fall into a troubled sleep, waking every fifteen minutes wishing my life _hadn't_ just been flipped upside down.

Eight hours later, the counterproductive soothing sounds of my alarm clock lulls me into a deep sleep, being rudely interrupted only a half hour later by the obnoxious BEEP BEEP BEEP from my second alarm. I don't feel like explaining why I have two alarms, and why one sends me back to sleep. And I certainly am not going to waste any time talking about why I even call the soothing sounds one an 'alarm clock.' Let's just say it's been an alarm of sorts to get a certain SOMEONE out of my bedroom before the rest of my family woke up. Because, for some reason, Stan woke up to the sound of recorded birds chirping and a nearby brook flowing. And, for the past four years of my life, I've been comforted by the sounds of this because Stan would roll over, give me a kiss on the cheek, and sneak out. That was when he would stay here. Which wasn't as often as I'd like. Which is why I set the stupid thing all the time anyway. _Anyway_…

It's yet another possession of mine I want out of my life. I groan, reach over, unplug the damn thing, and shove it underneath my bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

I roll over on my stomach and frown. It seems like the only decent sleep I got was that last half hour. I was tossing and turning all night, waking up frequently for bathroom trips and water breaks. Which would lead to more bathroom trips. I stared at the patterns in my ceiling until it came to life and started mocking me for being such an insomniac. And then it began crying because it felt my pain and wanted to join in on the pity party. My whole room shrunk and I experienced claustrophobia for the first time in my life.

And now, as I hear the actual birds outside of my window, I close my eyes and wish that I hadn't skipped school on Monday. Because today is ten times worse. And, if I go by the saying "it always gets worse before it gets better," well, I'm in deep shit. Can't I transfer schools? I heard that North Park is a pleasantly growing community with lots to offer. But then I'd have to explain the reasoning for my actions. I don't think mom would buy the whole "I got a detention" excuse as reasoning.

I sigh and snuggle up to my favorite pillow. I sigh again when I realize the only reason it's my favorite pillow is cause Stan demands to use it every time he sleeps here. He says it fits his head better. I think he's just picky.

Man, I've got it bad. And I didn't think he was any different until a few days ago. Now I doubt if he has _anything_ of sentimental value because of me. And that causes me to tear up again.

"Wendy, sweetie, are you up?" I hear a soft voice from the other side of the door call. I don't get it. Mom was FURIOUS at me last night. This morning she's calling me sweetie?!? What's the deal?

"I'm getting there," I mumble as I throw the pillow into the corner of my room. I grab the other unloved pillow and grasp it tightly. Can't I fake another sickness? Last time it wasn't that hard. I push my reflexes to gag, and run over to the trashcan. If I can just have physical proof, mom won't question me. I open my mouth and burp again. Nothing but air comes up. I swallow repeatedly and push my reflexes again, conditioning them. But it's no use. I couldn't make myself throw up even if I was bulimic.

God must want me at school today.

My normal routine for getting ready has to be shortened today due to my longer-than-usual waking up process. I stare glumly into the bowl of floating marshmallows and frosted toasted oat cereal as my father reads the comics in the morning newspaper. He wants me to think he's reading the business section, but I know better. I've joked with him on several occasions about it, but not today. Today I can barely keep my head from dropping into the used milk.

"Wendy, dear, you look terrible," mother delicately tells me. She leans forward to completely obstruct my view of staring at nothing. "Are you sure you're over what you had?"

To this, I perk up. "No, I don't think I am. I feel like I'm regressing, mom. Can I just go back to bed?"

She frowns and her shoulders drop. "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you lately. It's almost as if you're _wanting_ to stay home. When did my little girl start being so conniving?"

AM I THAT obvious? Jesus, it must take only one detention for me to lose all of my mother's trust. And I've been working on it for seventeen years!

I pretend to be appalled, but she can see through that too. "Mother! I am _not_ being conniving, I really don't feel good!"

She tsk's me. "Well, Wendy. One day out of school and your brain is slipping. I think its best we try to make it today, hm?"

I stare at her, wide-eyed and speechless. When did she become such a bitch?! I didn't think one detention was _that_ big of a deal! "Fine," I mutter, wondering why I couldn't just tell her 'I'm sorry, mom. I just found out that Stan is gay and I'm trying to deal with it.' That would DEFINITELY make her eat her words. And I would relish in her foolishness.

But, alas, I cannot bring myself to even touch that subject with anyone, much less her. Someone who thinks so highly of my boyfriend would almost be crushed more than I am from such a blow. I decide to keep the information to myself as I collect my books and leave the house without word.

"Straight home, young lady!" I hear echoing from inside, but I choose to ignore it. I'd rather get another detention than be confined in my room without any privileges again. I'll go out of my mind.

I turn the ignition and crank on the heat in 'ole Betsy. As I sputter down the highway, my teeth chatter from sheer nervousness. That and it's fucking zero degrees outside. The heat barely has time to thaw my ice-cold fingertips before I'm pulling to the student parking lot behind SPHS. I do a quick scan of the contents in my backpack before getting out to head inside. I slam Betsy's door and take a look around. To my left, about six cars down and one row up, Kyle pulls up in his expensive green Mazda. He laughs cheerily as he gets out, hoisting his backpack of his left shoulder. He mouths something I can't hear, and waits to shut his door until his passenger door opens. Out steps none other than my boyfriend. He too laughs heartily, and the two boys walk into the back doors, side by side. I wonder if he even noticed I was staring directly at them. I doubt he saw the intense scowl plastered on my face.

I take a deep breath and head in the same direction, taking extra precautions not to run into either of them. But, as I take the last step up and enter the building, I see Stan leaning against the wall with a sympathetic smile. I almost want to roll my eyes at the gesture, but allow myself to walk up to him instead.

"Hey," I solemnly greet.

"Hi sweetie," he replies, leaning over to give me a kiss. I make it the shortest kiss in the world's history and pull back.

"I'm surprised you waited on me," I admit honestly. I'd figured he'd be with Kyle on cloud nine by this time. It's early enough before school, I wonder now what they _do_ do before the warning bell. I've heard of people getting together…no. I don't WANT to know.

"Well after you're mom wouldn't let me talk to you last night, I had to see what the verdict was. I'm guessing it was bad, huh?"

It dawns on me that he HAD told Kyle that he was going to call me last night. And that I never received that call.

As if reading my confused expression, he continues. "I called your phone, and it just kept ringing. No machine, no nothing. I figured your mom must have been ultra pissed to disconnect it, so I called your home line instead. She told me pretty much you were in deep shit and I couldn't talk to you."

My irritation grows. "Then you KNOW it was pretty bad. Why are you even asking me that?"

He looked hurt by my statement. "I was just worried about you! Are you doing okay?"

"No." I leave it at that and look around, impatiently.

He sighs, obviously exasperated by my aloofness. But hey, he can act aloof all the freaking time, and I never give him hell for it. I think I'm allowed to every once and awhile. "Anything I can do to help?" he says to cover it up.

_Yeah, you can admit to me you were sucking your boyfriend's dick last instead of thinking about me_, I want to say. "No, I just had a rough night," I edit.

He smiles warmly in an attempt to cheer me up. "I can imagine. I've never heard your mom that pissed before. I bet she didn't know how to ground you," he guessed.

To this, I laugh. If he knows me and my life so well, why do I not know him and _his_ life? Why is he being such a coward? "You're right. She didn't." I have never been this short with him before. Then again, I've never been in this situation before.

He senses my uneasiness, but adds onto it by placing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me all the way inside. "I wanted to see if you'd be able to go out tonight, but my guess is that's a no, right?"

"Nothing gets past you," I reply sarcastically, already lost in thought. Immediately my mind goes to the idea that he wants to make it sound like he's asking me out, but in truth, he's probably trying to see if he can have another night free for Kyle. I tense up in his arm and push myself away from his body. "Look, I've gotta see Mr. Harman before the bell rings. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

His hurt is now apparent. "Did I do something wrong?" he asks innocently. So innocently, it makes me want to scream.

When we used to have fights, he would _never_ know what he did. It wasn't until I told him what it was before he'd really understand why he was apologizing. Afterwards, he'd get angry with himself because he should've been able to tell what was wrong. He'd say he was a shitty boyfriend for never having a clue, but now that I think about it, he was just being a boy. And I was being a girl. And that's not what he truly wanted.

"You're fine," I reply curtly, not looking him in the eyes. I refuse to break down in front of him. He has to confess to ME. "I have to go." I lift myself up by holding onto his strong forearm to give him a kiss before heading off into an unknown direction. It's not to Mr. Harman's classroom, though. I lied to him about that.

I've never lied to him about anything before. Guess when I find the whole relationship has BEEN a lie; nothing really matters to me anymore. I feel his eyes watch me as I disappear around the corner before a wave of tears really hit me. I held onto the confidence until he couldn't see me, and now I'm shaking violently. I run for the nearest bathroom.

I am greeted with two girls huddled in the corner over some substance I don't even want to think about. I'm too innocent for that stuff, and I duck into the nearest stall, balling up a wad of toilet paper and plastering it to my face. I take deep breaths, coaching myself to not cry in public. Not only does it sound pathetic, but it will also make me look like hell if I walk away with red puffy eyes and streaked cheeks.

After about 2 minutes, I calm myself down enough to walk out of the stall, those girls _still_ in the corner, and glance at myself in the mirror. Not too much worse for the wear, just a little redness. And I don't have to worry about mascara or anything because I didn't bother putting on makeup today. I exit the bathroom before anything else happens between the girls, and turn the corner. Almost immediately, I spy Stan with Kyle. I duck back again so they can't see me, but again, I can hear them. Not too many people have started filling up the hallways with mindless chatter yet. We still have a good twenty minutes before the warning bell even sounds.

"I think she's pissed off at her mother, dude, I'm sure it's not you," Kyle consoles, his hand on Stan's back. I saw this when I rounded the corner.

"I don't know, she was angry. And it was like it was directed at me. You think she's still upset about Tuesday?"

"No idea," Kyle replies. "You've talked to her since then though, right?"

"Yeah."

"And she seemed cool then?"

"Yeah, she did," Stan says, puzzled.

"Then it's probably nothing more than her mom giving her a hard time. You know how that is, man. You've got nothing to worry about," Kyle assures.

"I hope you're right."

"You know I am! Anyway…she loves you." I can tell this hard for him to talk about. They have to put on this show for public though, I'm sure that's all this is. "If anything is wrong, she'll tell you. She always does."

I hear Stan chuckle. "True. Thanks, man."

"No prob."

I lean my head against the lockers and sigh. It really seems like Stan cares about me. Why is he doing this to himself? To us? To them? I'm going to get him to confess. I _will_! And…I've gotta let him know, somehow, that I'm not going to hate him for it. At this point, I'm so confused on the matter I don't know what to think. Or do.

"So she says she's grounded for awhile," Stan continues, now onto a new subject. My ears strain for any response.

"Probably. She's the perfect child. I know what it's like to disappoint the family." Something tells me that if Kyle wasn't Stan's best friend and I wasn't constantly competing for Stan's affection…I'd be really good friends with Kyle. We truly have a lot in common.

"Me too," Stan responds, and I just know he's frowning. I can tell that in his voice on the phone when he's sad. "It means she and I can't go out tonight."

"Oh?" Kyle's voice has an element of hope. "She say that?"

"Yeah. I kinda wanted to take her to that new movie-"

"Stan, I don't want to hear what you wanted to do with your girlfriend on your date together," Kyle scolds him, but its in a lighthearted tone so no one else would suspect.

Stan snorts. "Sorry. Anyway, she can't, so I'm free," he says matter-of-factly. I groan when I realize I was half right about his intentions on asking me. Maybe he DID want to take me to see a movie, but I'm sure there was a hidden agenda in there somewhere.

"Is that so." Kyle asks the question more like a statement. I can imagine the two grinning wildly at each other just about now, just from the sounds of last night.

"Yep. See you around 7?"

"I think that can be arranged…"

My feet decide to move. I turn the corner decidedly, rushing full speed to them. When Kyle sees me, that gleam in his eye dies down, and Stan turns to face me. He was leaning against his locker, one leg bent at the knee and foot propped up. Kyle had been leaning into him, his arm steadying himself on the locker beside Stan. His feet were crossed giving _my_ boyfriend a dreamy stare.

"StanIneedtotalktoyou," I blurt, words jumbled together.

He looks at me unsurely before proceeding with his thoughts. "I thought you said you had to talk to a teacher."

"He…wasn't in the room!" I boom, surprised by the volume of panic in my voice.

"Were you crying?" he ventures, squinting his eyes to get a better look at me.

"Uh, I have to go…meet Kenny now…" Kyle interjects, both Stan and me well aware Kenny is the last person to show up to school before the first bell. He backs away slowly and then turns to escape.

Stan turns and calls after him. "See you after school!" He turns back to me. "What is it, Wends? Is everything okay?"

I take a cautious look around. There are virtually no students down this corridor, with the exception of a few juniors lagging in the distance. The seniors know by now that as long as we're in the building by the time that warning bell sounds, we'll be okay, so we've got a good ten minutes for this confession to commence.

Now is as good of time as any.

"Where were you last night?" I demand, knowing this is not the best way to get a closeted boy to come out. No, I need to calm down and think this through.

He stammers. "I…I t-thought you said you'd be grounded and for me not to come by."

Nice dodge, I tell him silently. I knew he wouldn't up and say his whereabouts involved Kyle and the football field. And if he did, then it was a lot easier to get him confess than I thought it would be.

"Oh yeah," I play dumb. "Stan…" I freeze. I have no idea where to go from here.

He crooks his neck and leans in until I am looking directly into his eyes. And I can only describe this with this much detail because I recently watched it with my mom, but you know where the Beast becomes a human again and Belle is trying to decipher whether it's really him? And then the camera angle shows his concerned eyes and they're bright and blue? Well, that is the look that Stan gave me at this precise moment in time, when I felt a second wave of tears about to hit me if I didn't control myself.

"I…I love you," I admit, feeling myself weaken quickly.

"I love you too, Wendy. I'm sorry you had to go through your first grounding last night, but I guess it happens to the best of us. I remember the first time _I_ was grounded. I was like nine and-"

"Will you **shut up**?" I yell, shocked by the force of such words. And like that, his mouth clamps shut. I instantly feel guilty.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, Stan. I'm just…I don't know. Something's been bothering me lately," I start, the words flowing freely now.

"I can tell," he agrees quietly, afraid of another shout.

"It's just that…well…if something was bothering you, you'd let me know, right?" I cuddle up to him; he stiffens, but then returns the affection.

"Sure," he says unconvincingly.

"I mean, if you didn't feel right about something we were doing. Or…I don't know. If you didn't…" I stop myself there because of the alert look he has on his face. He MUST know what I'm getting at.

"What are you getting at?" he asks. Huh, guess not.

"Stan, I feel like lately, you haven't been yourself. You should know you don't have to hide anything from me. I love you so much and I am here to support you." There, that should do it.

He laughs nervously. "No offense, Wends, but lately, I don't think _you've_ been yourself. This isn't your typical behavior, you've got me a bit worried."

Damn it, he completely changed the subject on me. I spy Kyle behind Stan's left shoulder in the distance. He looks blurry because I'm focused on Stan's troubled features, but he's definitely watching us like a hawk. Only trying to do it without appearing noticeable. Wow.

"There's NOTHING to worry about, Stan," I assure, growing impatient. "Please, you know we have no secrets from each other."

He visibly blushes. "That's good then." Man, he's really, _really_ good at playing the 'I-care-about-my-girlfriend' card. And brilliant at transforming my questioning and prodding into a confession of my own. I realize this is going to get me nowhere. He won't confess. Probably not until he's ready, and CERTAINLY not in the school hallways. I sigh and watch as crowds of people envelope us.

I allow him to bring his hand to my cheek, lightly stroking it. Then he leans over and presses his lips to mine, gently but passionlessly kissing me. It almost makes me cringe. I am at such a loss for words, it's unbearable.

He pulls back and smiles warmly. "Now _I_ have to get to class. I'll see you later." And like that, before I can even respond, he's lost in the crowd.

I'm knocked out of my reverie as Bebe bounces up to me. And by bounce, I mean, in every sense of the word, bounce.

"Thought I'd try out something new today," she explains.

"Not wearing a bra isn't new, Bee. You're three decades late."

"That isn't what I meant, silly," she responds, all too bubbly for this early in the morning. She must have had a _very_ satisfying night. Only Bebe could look so incredibly happy at 7:50 in the morning. "I'm here EARLY!" She shoots out her hands to present herself with a grin.

"You want a congratulatory medal?"

"OOOH!" she squeals. "I would LOVE to have one!"

"It's out in my car. Along with my Nobel Peace prize," I reply so sarcastically I can actually feel it dripping off my tongue.

Her face twists into a frown. "Jeez, what's up your ass?"

I grunt. "Stan."

"Now THAT'S a story worth getting here early for," she says, giggling.

I roll my eyes and feel a smile creep out. "That's NOT what I meant."

Her tone turns serious. "You wanna share?"

"I'd rather not."

Bebe purses her lips and looks deep in thought. "Well, I've got just the thing." She hooks her arm in mine and we walk to my locker. I stand in front of it, waiting for her remedy. When nothing happens, I look at her with raised eyebrows. "Well?"

"It's your locker!"

"…"

"At school!" Things like this make sense to Bebe. She lives in her own little world.

"…So?"

"So you LOVE school! Now that you're here, you can get your books and be on your way!" Her smile is contagious.

"That was really lame," I tell her, opening up my locker and placing my books inside. I grab my world history and anatomy books and slam it shut.

She shrugs. "I'm not the one who loves school. Come on, sweetie. Cheer up! Today is a new day."

"Yeah," I say. "Let me know when it's over." I wave bye to her and walk in the opposite direction of where she's going to just get away. Perhaps she's right. Another day at school might be just what I need. I _do_ like school, I can't lose sight of that.

When the bell rings, Mrs. Patterson shuts the door and beams with that pudgy little potato face of hers. "Good morning!" she calls to everyone. "I trust all of you had a great night knowing our research papers were due today, didn't you?" I hear collective groans from the rest of the class. I groan along until I realize…

SHIT.

I knew I forgot something. Okay, first I miss out on a test, second I get detention, now I'm not turning in my assignments? What am I turning into? A delinquent? This affair is affecting my mind, body, and soul. I just want to go home. I want to go home and disappear under my covers. I raise my hand in humiliation as everyone else passes their papers forwards, asking Mrs. Patterson if I can speak with her privately.

Surely she'll understand. I'm an A student. I've never missed any assignment. I keep my fingers crossed as I approach her desk, ready for the third time this week to do something I've never had to do before.


	6. Playing With Fire

I had a hard time with this chapter. A few reasons. Number 1, I hit a rut where I wasn't sure how to get to where I want to be next. Number 2, I came up with a way to get there, but it required some drastic steps. I feel like I wrote in a different style for one thing. And in order for it to make any sense, I had to do some bending of the story OUT of Wendy's POV. No worries though. Even if it IS out of hers, it will never be in Stan or Kyle's, because…well I think that would take away from the story. Number 3, I wanted to finish this before I'm gone for an entire week for spring break (WEEEE!!).

Alright, before we get started, I have two announcements to make. The first one is VERY dear to me because my best friend is coming BACK to SP fanfic writing (she has been away for so very, very long). **Dansyngqueen** is her name, and she's got three awesome oneshots, check them out! She plans to continue "Forbidden"—hehe, I get the inside scoop—and I fully intend on reading it. You should too! Be sure to drop by and leave a review at the end as well! AND, the second announcement…I ONLY HAVE TWO MORE MONTHS OF SCHOOL LEFT! Which is awesome when you know what I've been through!!! And I'm not going emo on you, I really _have_ been through hell. Not literally, but hell on Earth. Do yourself a favor and NEVER teach in rural North Carolina where the principals are inhumane bitches who ruin your career for no good reason. Trust me, it's NOT fun. Not even for a second.

One more thing…let's all give BroflovskiFan, Cszemis, Faery Goddyss, Rakal, kyleisgod, Will Sing for Monies, Fletset and style-xx a round of applesauce! Because they deserve a six pack, the kind with the cinnamon in it :)

ALL RIGHT, now that that's over, enjoy!

**Chapter 5**- **Playing With Fire**

"Wends, are you sure you're alright?"

I groan, knocking my head on my wrist, which is lying upon the lunchroom table. "I don't wanna talk about this right now." I lift my head to gaze dreamily at the normal couples in the background—all the boyfriends actually _want_ to be with their girlfriends. I can tell because they are all over each other. It's obnoxious. It's unnecessary.

It's wonderful.

"But sweetie, part of my duty as a best friend is to see what's up and help you through your troubles," Bebe explains, her voice actually sounding sweet inside my bitter thoughts.

Its not everyday you see one of the school's most composed and intelligent students lose her mind due to rattling it loose. I decide it's probably _not_ a good idea to continue pounding my head. I'm probably going to have a bruise there tomorrow.

But what the hell else am I supposed to do? It's been five long weeks of this torture—of me keeping my mouth shut, vying for Stan's affection, but slowly slipping away myself. If someone had told me that you could fake the look of love 6 months ago I would have laughed in their face. It's not the sort of thing you can just fake, and Stan, with his boyish blue eyed stare and killer smile…well I truly believe he loves me, somehow. And even though I've been grounded for committing the most insane offenses against myself more in the last few weeks that I ever have in my former life, mother has still allowed Stan to come see me.

He just goes on, pretending that everything is the same it's always been. That there _isn't_ this massive rift in our relationship that has permanently altered our future and how we look at each other.

Well, maybe _he_ can fake that sort of thing, but I can't. As much as I hate to admit, I now question every look he gives me, every time he touches me, and every word he speaks. I've analyzed our relationship both backwards and forwards, and I'm beginning to believe he never really was the one I should be with. Perhaps I'm saying this make myself feel better about the situation.

…Perhaps I'm saying it because I'm feeling myself start to fall out of love with him. It's still the most painful experience I've ever had to endure, and I still can't imagine my life without him. But it's getting easier and easier to be angry and suspicious of him rather than feel hurt and betrayed.

For the past month I have forgotten more homework than I can remember. I have skipped a few more days of school because of "sickness." I haven't had an appetite and have lost seven pounds because of it. My energy level is terrible. My sleeping patterns are atrocious. And don't even _get_ me started on my mood swings that span the Richter Scale with every passing minute.

I attribute this DIRECTLY to that backstabbing boyfriend of mine. How else do you explain the out-of-character behavior I've displayed? My mom's worried about me—thinks that Stan and I are going through relationship troubles, but isn't even CLOSE to guessing how. My dad thinks that I'm being a dumb girl who's life revolves around her dumb jock boyfriend. Heh, he's probably right.

Stan himself has noticed a change in my attitude, and I think he's reluctant to even tread those waters. He does his part in the "perfect boyfriend" role play, and I do my best to tolerate him when he's near. But, to be honest, I can't even look at him without my stomach burning.

I drop my head to my hand again.

Bebe places her caring hands on my shoulder, trying to pry me away from being too destructive. I love her. Without her, I'd have knocked myself unconscious.

"Wendy, this isn't healthy. Something is _wrong_." She wraps her arm around me and presses me into her chest. "Please tell me what it is!"

Bebe isn't always the dumb blonde flirt she makes herself out to be. When she cares enough about something (me), she'll go out of her way for that something. In this case, seeing that her best friend is obviously up shit creek without a paddle, she is consoling me the best way she knows how—with her boobs.

"Bee, I'm not Kenny," I inform her, but my voice is muffled from the giant bosom suffocating me. I'm smashed between her cleavage. Great, I bet the student body is getting an eyeful of what they've always suspected right now. I shoot out my hands from her grasp and desperately try to push her away.

I suppose she finally understands what she is doing, because she releases me and clears her throat, upon seeing eyes begin to stare at us. I feel like she's almost about to whistle…you know, the thing people do when they want to go unnoticed. Even though it actually makes them more noticeable. But, to my relief, she doesn't. Her eyes lose their sparkle and she leans in really close.

"Let's go somewhere to talk about this, sweetie," she says, and I nod. I think…that if I keep this in ONE MORE SECOND…I'm going to explode. And it won't be a pretty explosion either. It won't be some calm "MY BOYFRIEND IS GAY" spout-off that turns everyone's head but then they all forget about it a few minutes later. No, I'll go on a rampage with my plastic fork, stabbing at anyone who even stares at me weirdly, as if they too know exactly what is going on. Because they do. I know they do.

Bebe grabs my hand and forces me up. I trail behind her as we exit the cafeteria, my lunch tray held by one shaky hand before I deposit it into the trash receptacle. All the food is still in tact, but it doesn't matter. I'm not hungry anyway. The looks we are getting make me want to scream. They all know. They know why Bebe is pulling me out of here. They know why I can't concentrate. They know why I just failed a research project—one that is worth 25 percent of my final grade. That mean old Ms. Patterson cut me _no_ slack. It didn't matter if I had been a loyal and reliable student. In the end, she saw me as a failure anyway. I don't even have a chance to turn in my paper late. "This should have been a top priority, Wendy," she told me. Well, I'm sorry. Lately, my priorities have been all out of order.

I do my best to ignore the whispers amongst the clusters of students as Bebe yanks me into the open hallway, down the corridors, and into the brisk outside air. She doesn't seem to even notice them when she practically plows everyone over, on a mission to get to our destination. Everything goes by so quickly when you're being pulled along through life—you hardly get the chance to see what is going on around you. You hardly get the chance to see for yourself what else is out there. And as my best friend leads me to a more serene place to talk, I can't help but feel like this has been going on for far too long.

I have been pulled throughout life. I've never actually stopped to see what is happening, nor did I question those who were guiding me. But they weren't guiding me at all. I followed them, like I was some sort of subservient slave…one that wouldn't question what was happening.

The sad thing is…I never did.

It all happened before my eyes, and I was too stupid to even question it. Too blind to notice my own longtime love fall in love with someone else.

"Are you in one of your thoughtful moods again?" Bebe ventures, and she brings me back to Earth.

I nod again, and Bebe purses her lips. She grips my hand once more and backs up to the picnic tables that are shaded by the overhang near the school. The tables are the most retarded piece of furniture to have right there because no one ever sits out in the freezing cold, and we don't have enough seats in the cafeteria. But, oh well, maybe they are made for times like these. I take a seat on the table beside her.

"Bee, I'm…I'm going crazy here," I begin. Instantly, my mind swarms with ways to break it to her. She's going to be just as crushed—in her heart, she believes Kyle is meant for her.

"That much is obvious. I've never seen you like this, sweetie. Tell me what's wrong!" She soothes me by rubbing my back, and I cuddle up to her. I can feel the tears begin to form, but I refuse to let them show before even saying anything.

"You…you know how Stan is my everything and I'd do anything for him and there's nothing I can't tell him?"

Her grip tightens briefly. "Yeeesss…"

"Well, there is something I can't tell him." The tears begin anyway.

I look into her deep brown eyes and see her frowning. "Do you not feel the same way anymore?" she asks.

"Not exactly. But it's cause lately, I know he doesn't either."

She bites her lip. "Do you think he wants to break up?"

I sigh, falling into the warmth her arm has provided. "At this point, I wish he did."

"_WHAT?!?!_" Bebe almost yells, causing me to jump at the surprise in her voice. "What's he doing, sweetie?!"

My shoulders drop, and I look away from her. "He's cheating on me."

Again, I feel her grip tighten, but this time, I know she's subconsciously balling her fists. Her body language visibly stiffens, and her voice lowers. "What," she asks to clarify, though it's not really a questionable tone. More like an impossible-to-believe tone. "Are you sure?"

I snort, recalling the damning evidence. "I am _very_ sure. I've seen them together."

"You WHAT?!? WENDY!!!" she screams, pushing herself away from me and grabbing onto my shoulders to turn my body square in front of hers. She swivels on the picnic table, ears tuned in for further explanation.

She shakes me every second I don't answer her, but my mind is lost at that point. How can I tell her any more? Bebe has the power to be a gossip queen, and I can't expose Stan like that. No, I want to do that myself. When the time is right.

"Wendy, so help me God if you don't give me any detail that you know I'm going to shake you until you can't remember what your name is," she continues, her voice calm but threatening. Obviously. I let out a small chuckle. Purely out of nervousness.

I think back to the last night I saw them in a way I hope to never see them again. "I saw them behind the football bleachers, and Stan…he was welcoming the advances." Ha, I recall that Stan was the one DOING the advances. Kyle just sat there and let his dick get sucked. By my boyfriend. Oh jeez, why is that so easy for me to say now? Have I come to grips with something so messed up already?

"That lying cheating bastard," she says, her face turning to scowl at the ground. I feel sorry for it—Bebe's angry looks are downright intimidating. She looks back at me. "Who is she? Do you know her? Does she go to this school?"

"We know who it is. Yeah, they go to this school." I make certain to not reveal the gender quite yet.

"Well?! Come on, Wendy, don't hold out on me! This information is vital! I'm gonna bitch slap her ass all the way back to the second grade if she goes near him again!" Ha, Bebe tries so often to be the bodyguard between us when in reality, she doesn't have a violent bone in her body. It's all talk.

"Bebe, I…you have to promise me you won't tell anyone who it is. I can't risk this kind of exposure for Stan."

She stares at me blankly. "Huh? Sweetie, he's fucking _cheating_ on you! Exposure my ass, I'm gonna humiliate him! The best way I know how."

"Exactly my point. Trust me, Bee. You don't want to do that. PLEASE, please promise me you won't tell anyone this."

"…" She is so puzzled right now, but I won't go any further until I get her promise.

"Bebe…I know I'm asking a lot for you to not spread this. But seriously, this is something that should be between Stan and me." And Kyle.

She sighs. "Fine. I have no idea why you are defending him, it's not like he's giving _you_ the royal treatmen-"

"It's Kyle."

Bebe stops her sentence, her movements, her facial expressions—everything. She looks frozen in time and doesn't even blink for a few seconds. Finally, "it's who?" Her voice is so small I can barely recognize it.

"Kyle," I repeat. "He's cheating on me with Kyle."

"Kyle Broflovski?"

"Does he know any other Kyle's?"

"I…"

"I saw them. Together. You know…_together_."

Her eyes go wide again. "Holy SHIT Wends! How? Like…what do you mean?"

"I mean, I saw them t o g e t h e r. They were kissing and…" I close my eyes, regretting what I'm about to say. "I saw Stan give Kyle…oral pleasure."

"OHMYGOD HE GAVE HIM HEAD?!?!" She jumps ten feet in the air and panics, mostly for me. Then she quiets down, leaning into me. "Does this mean he's"

"I'm pretty sure that's what it means," I finish, not even wanting to hear that word right now. It's lost all meaning from thinking about it too much.

"Fuck," Bebe concludes, sitting all the way back down. "Well…damn Wendy, what are you gonna do? How you gonna tell Stan you know?"

"I don't know if I can," I admit. It was hard enough telling her…but I knew it had to be done. For my sanity.

"Okay, now that is bullshit. You HAVE to tell him. I mean, he can't go around fucking Kyle behind your back." She pauses, processing this information. "That means that Kyle is gay too, doesn't it." Her voice is sad as I nod. "That means that…he'll never be available to me."

"My guess is no. Especially with the fact that he's in love with MY boyfriend."

"In…love?" More new information she has to question.

"Yes. In love. They have told each other they love each other. Which means, Bee, this has been going on for way too long for me to have not noticed. Which means I'm an idiot. Which means that…he thinks I'm some kind of cover up to the relationship he really wants to be in."

"God, Wendy. You've had a lot of time to sit on this, haven't you?"

I sigh.

"Which means you didn't _just_ find out about it. This is what's been fucking with you this whole time, hasn't it?"

I stare at the ground. "Remember how I was over at Stan's a few weeks ago to try to get him to study?"

"…"

"And you had called me cause you needed to borrow my notes for the biochemistry test?"

Bebe blinks. "…Not really."

"Well…I went back to get the notes I left there to give to you, and…I heard them. Inside the bedroom. Only, it was Kyle…doing stuff to Stan. I was in shock, I didn't know what to do, I just drove off, got sick, and refused to believe the truth."

I almost hear her brain click and her features widen. "OMG NOW I REMEMBER! And THAT'S why you didn't give me those notes! Sweetie!! OH MY GOD!!" She wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her chest once again. This time, I don't protest. My tears fall freely now, soaking her white button up blouse. "I'm so sorry, Wendy! I'm…I'm so sorry!" she chants over and over again, rocking me back and forth. I feel like a baby being soothed by her mother, but it actually _is_ making me feel better. Bebe's special touch, I guess. She cradles me until my tears are dried up, then we go back into the school to finish out the rest of the day. I remind her that she cannot tell a single living soul about the information she knows, and I have no choice but to trust her.

I know she wants to tear Stan a new asshole though. I'd kind of like to do the same thing myself.

---

I tap my fingers nervously, daring to glance at anyone and everyone staring right back at me. They all know. Goddamn Bebe, the blonde twit fucking told everyone, I _know_ it. That's why they all grin that smug grin. They're all laughing at me, saying, "Haha, your boyfriend's a fag!"

I knew I shouldn't have told her. That blabbermouth can get word out faster than a call chain. I'm willing to bet money that she couldn't hack it—her not-so-secret obsession being gay for my boyfriend? That MUST have been the reason why he wasn't calling her, writing her silly notes, acknowledging that she even exists…

Deep down, Bebe has a good heart. She is a good person with…er…kinda strong…morals. Sure, she'll have sex with anything that rises to the occasion, but I'd like to think that I could trust her with something she promised not to tell. Something so destructible to Stan's reputation. To MY reputation. For goodness sake, people will think _I_ turned him that way, or that I am not enough woman for him!

I'm plenty of woman! THAT'S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM!

Eric Cartman looks over at me and snorts. It is the kind of snort he gives to anyone when he's less than impressed with them. In other words, the snort he gives to everyone every waking minute of our day. I want to glare at him, but I'm too scared to even challenge him. If HE knows, then potentially everyone in this school knows, and I'd be making a big fool out of myself defending my closeted backstabbing cocksucker of a boyfriend.

Sad thing is…cocksucker isn't an insult anymore. It's a hobby of his apparently.

I drop my head into my open palm. I've been doing this a lot lately.

Could this period go by any slower? It's only been thirty-two minutes since lunch, and every set of eyes burning a whole through my skull is giving me a headache. I'm sick of the accusations, and no one has even opened their mouth.

It's all in their minds. I know what they're thinking. Cause I'm thinking the same thing.

How could've Bebe possibly told them all _this_ soon? Jesus Christ she's fast!

---

For this next scene, I HAVE to switch out of Wendy POV mode, to let my readers know what's _really_ happening.

---

I'm not one to pry, but when Wendy told me that her boyfriend was cheating on her, and that Kyle Broflovski was the one he was cheating with, I about had a heart attack. I mean, Kyle is the epitome of gorgeous with those tight red curls of his and those bold green eyes. And that ridiculously sculpted body of a Greek God…oh my God! I just about had an orgasm visualizing him. Again.

How the hell could someone _that_ fine be gay? That pisses me off! ALL the good ones are gay. That's the luck of us females.

At least now it explains why he's never come on to me.

I'm going to get this all straightened out, once and for all. By paying Kyle a little visit, I'll prove what she said is true, and I'll help Wendy out too.

I know that both Stan and Kyle have P.E. right now. How do I know? Because I spend over half of my study hall period roaming the halls for any freestanding male without a hall pass. The cute ones are lucky enough to get a few quality minutes with me; the lonely and pathetic ones end up walking into a pillar from drooling and end up in the nurses' office. Either way, they get out of class.

Most of the time, I convince Mr. Williams to be his 'secretary', cause the man sends me on more errands than a housekeeper. Lucky for me, the auditorium (location of study hall) is directly down from the gym. And the gym has a lot of cute boys in running shorts. And across from the gym is the boys' locker room…which is the door I am standing in front of right now.

I'm right on time, as usual, because the boys are playing basketball in the court nearest to the door I'm at. Whenever I watch, I'm always very nonchalant about it. After all, who wants the most unavailable girl in school to look available?

This time, something's different. I peer out from over the stack of papers cradled in my arms to the boys on the court, and a tall redhead and his cute counterpart are suspiciously missing. I overhear someone ask coach (what we have to call our lameass P.E. teacher even though he's not a coach) where Marsh is. And coach simply replies, "Making up a test, Broflovski let me know."

Twenty minutes into this period and both Kyle and Stan are 'missing.' Yet Kyle had to come to the gym to let coach know, and Kyle isn't _in_ the gym, so something tells me Kyle had a pretty good excuse of his own. So I trust my instincts and crack open the door in front of me, pausing to hear any signs of movement.

There are definitely showers running. I know that sound from anywhere.

Wendy accuses me sometimes of being easy, and I never correct her. I know my way around this locker room better than the numbers of my 40 friends on speedial, so when I get inside, I weave my way to the back. Soon I'm standing by the shower area, and I pause to take in the scene before finding a safe hiding place. As soon as I duck into the only stall of the boy's bathroom, I lock the door and climb up onto the disgusting seat. From here, I can hear the shower area clearer, because it opens up right beside my head. But trust me, there's no way to see into the showers from here.

I think back to what I just saw. Before I ran past the shower entrance, I spied the two naked boys playing in the shower. They were smiling and laughing the way any guy would with his friend—if his clothes were _on_. But Stan was stroking Kyle's cheek, and Kyle had his arm wrapped around Stan's backside. Stan was leaning Kyle up against the wall as the water tumbled down in between their nude flesh.

The scene turned me on a little. Weird.

Man, if the guys were to come in early from P.E., they'd get quite an eyeful. But we still have thirty minutes to go, so that probably won't happen. I have time to listen to them, and then make my move. I lean over further and hear someone grunt. No idea who, but I hear the other hiss at the same time.

"Dammit, Stan, I told them I only had to take a piss!"

Haha, nice excuse there, Kyle.

"Mother nature called for more than that," Stan says playfully.

"You're sick dude. No one spends this much time taking a shit."

"So they won't ask you about it! And you're the sick one, talking about shit when your hand is on my dick."

"This is hard, dude. I feel like we're gonna get caught."

"I know it's hard," Stan says, playfully again. I can just about imagine what _he's_ talking about. I giggle silently. If it weren't for him being Wendy's boyfriend, I'd be having all too great of a time right now.

"Stan!" Kyle whines, and I hear the wind knocked out of Stan. Kyle must have pushed him back.

"Alright babe, look. We've got a good…ten-"

"Five."

"…Okay FIVE minutes left. I…I can do that."

"You're such a stallion," Kyle says sarcastically.

"Shut up. It's why they call 'em 'quickies'."

"_You'll_ only need two minutes then," Kyle replies, and I can tell he is grinning. Without further convincing I hear some movement.

Then I hear, "Shit it's cold!" come from Kyle. Probably talking about the wall he's plastered against.

"What you talkin' about, Ky, you're fucking hot as hell," Stan tells him, and I hear some mumbling from Kyle I can't really understand.

At this point, I can't even distinguish their voices from each other because it sounds like a tangled mess. They're both grunting and groaning as their breaths speed up, and any words that _do_ come out of their mouth are incoherent jumbles of muffled ecstasy.

Shit, Wends is right. Not only is Stan cheating on her with Kyle…he's fucking him in the boys' locker room WHILE school is in session. That's hardcore in-your-face cheating. If they were to get caught…well…I don't even want to think about that. Cause the two hottest boys at school are currently up the other's ass and I'm trying desperately to contain myself. Such mixed emotions!

Damn. A quickie really _does_ mean a quickie to Stan, cause I hear him suck in his breath and then let out a rather loud "Ah SHIT" before one of them slaps the wall in front of them. Kyle mutters, "fuck" and I hear more movement. This is like a blind man watching a porno. Not. Fair. At all.

Eventually their breathing goes back to normal, and I hear Stan sigh. "Well, cutie, guess I should get dressed." Their lips smack together. Think about it. Take away someone's sight and their other senses are heightened. Could be because the boys shut the water off too.

"I'm dripping wet," Kyle brilliantly surmises.

"You're in the shower, dumbass."

"I mean the guys are gonna wonder why!"

"Hmmm…tell 'em you got all sweaty and felt hot so you had to cool off."

"Stan, that's about the most retarded excuse ever."

"I'm not the one that gave it, dude," Stan says, and suddenly he appears naked and wet outside of the shower area. He's walking toward a locker and I see his ass and the muscles that make it up. Goddamn, Stan's fine. Then, low and behold, Kyle peeks out from around the corner.

Jesus, I've died and gone to heaven. He turns around completely for me to see his entire package and…let me tell you he is worth every inch of my dreams! His body is beautiful. Clothes don't do it justice. His rippling abs, his broad shoulders, those cute freckles that he likes to hide. He looks both ways before crossing, and walks boldly up to Stan, stopping him with a kiss. If you can't tell, I can see above the stall just fine now.

"Hey baby," Kyle says as he cuddles up to Stan. Stan, on the other hand, is jumping up and down, looking extremely nervous.

"Duuuude, they might see us!"

Kyle snorts. "They would've seen us in there too."

"Yeah but we could just say we were showering!"

"Riiiight. With your dick up my ass. I think that'd go over _real_ well."

"Fuck you!" Stan yells, pushing him away and reaching for his shirt that's lying on the ground. I see Kyle grin and open his mouth for a rebuttal, but he says nothing. "I just don't want it to be SO obvious!"

Kyle sighs angrily. "You don't want it to be obvious at all."

"Kyle, don't start."

Kyle shakes his head. "I'm not starting anything, you're the one that got his quickie and is off to class, not having to think about it."

Stan turns around, seemingly hurt. "I DO think about it, Ky! All the fucking time!" He meets Kyle's eyes for a few moments before his shoulders drop and he goes back to dressing. Kyle watches his secret and ashamed boyfriend's backside glumly as Stan speed-dresses, finally shaking his hair free of water with his hands. He turns around on his heels and smiles at Kyle warmly. "I'll see you tonight."

Kyle glares sternly at the boy as he leans over and gives him a quick kiss on the lips. Kyle kisses back, of course, but I can see he's really disappointed again. I'm sure he's feeling used, just like Wendy's feeling abused. And they always say, "used and abused," right? I thought so.

Stan sneaks out and Kyle stands alone, dejected once again. Although he's sad, I can still appreciate him in all his glory. I catch myself fantasizing, and before I know it, he's walking over toward the sinks beside the toilet stalls. When I hear the sound of those automatic hand dryers start up, I sneak out of the stall and make my way to the front of the locker room again.

When I'm back by the front entryway, I look down at my clock. Only seven minutes have passed since I stepped foot inside. And NOW it's time to do my thing. I prepare myself and get into position.

The very second I see Kyle's naked (now miraculously partially covered with a towel) body come into view, I move forward quickly. Determined. "Hey you," I announce my coming with a seductive voice.

Kyle jumps about twenty feet in the air, momentarily forgetting about the towel precariously wrapped around his waist. As soon as he realizes its beginning to slip (and before I can see anything), he scrambles to pull it back up, securing it by tucking it under one edge. "Jesus Christ Bebe! What the FUCK are you doing?"

I choose to ignore him as I steadily advance toward him. "Relax, cutie, it's nothing I haven't seen before." I pay extra attention to not add "like two minutes ago when you were all over Stan." The closer I get to him, the further away he backs, until he's come back-to-back with a locker. At this point, I'm looming in front of his face. I reach out and run a hand through his now dry hair.

"A little too early to be hiding in the boy's locker room, don'tcha think?" he states as calmly as possible, but I see (and feel) his body shaking beside me. Our chests are practically touching.

"A little too early for showering, don'tcha think?" I counterattack; sure he doesn't know what I'm getting at. I'll help him out. "No doubt those activities can be exhausting."

"W-what activities?" he stammers. Oh, Kyle dear, I could be so mean to you right now. You're acting like a pathetic little scaredy cat. SHOW ME SOME BALLS! Hahaha. I mean…yeah.

"Why, gym class, of course," I tease, choosing to drop my hand so that my fingers graze his bare chest. He smashes himself further into the locker, but there's nowhere for him to go.

"Heh, I got too hot."

"I'm about to get you _real_ hot," I suggest, and press my body into his.

"God, Bebe, do you ever give it a rest?"

I look down. He is still semi-erect, but it's going down. I can tell beneath that thin white towel. "Looks like you don't." This is great; I can use it as bait.

He rolls his eyes. "You…you've got nothing on me."

"Kyle, this isn't a court room. You don't to put up a defense." I lean in closer. "…Unless you have something to hide."

He pushes me away. Good, he's gaining back his sense of male-ness. "Bebe, the only thing I've got to hide is my ass from you so you don't give me bruises."

He's referring to the time that I pinched him so many times he said it was too sore for him to sit. What? His ass is amazing!

"I rest my case," he continues, and I smile at his lawyer talk. He successfully manages to push me all the way from him, thinking he's won this round. But I haven't even brought out the key witness.

He stares at me as if I'm going to go away just because he's looking at me. I grin wider, then suddenly sober up. "I saw Stan leave."

His face goes red, and I await his response. "Yeah, he had to make up a test."

"He was all wet. You two shower together?"

"Bebe! GOD!" Kyle screams, pretending to be disgusted, but when he doesn't say anything else, I chose to make my move.

"Kyle, you're the only boy in this entire school who hasn't made a move on me."

"I think you make enough moves on me for the both of us." God, he's clever. He smirking that "I'm so smart" grin of his. I could just eat him up right now. FOCUS Bebe. For Wendy.

"There has to be something to that, Kyle," I press.

He throws his head back slightly and laughs. "Bebe, just because I don't want to have sex with you doesn't mean anything's wrong with me."

I've had it. No more playing around. "You're right. It means you're having sex with Stan."

"What?" he half-laughs, half-chokes, trying to play it cool. But he knows I've uncovered their secret, and he's not laughing at _my_ stupidity anymore.

"You heard me. And if you don't cut this bullshit out and tell Stan to tell Wendy the fucking truth, I'm going to see to it this whole school finds out about your secret." I lean in again. This time, he doesn't move away. "And don't think I'm bluffing, Kyle. I've got more gossip power in my little pinky than the National Enquirer. Just try me." This is the first time I've ever had to be mean to Kyle, and dammit, it's turning me on.

"I-I-…"

"You-you stutter all you want. But I suggest pulling your dick _out_ of your brain and catching up with your boyfriend to share the good news." I can REALLY be a bitch when I want to, hehe.

"Bebe, listen-"

"No, YOU listen! Wendy's heart is at stake here! And I'm not about to let my best friend be humiliated in front of an entire school because she thinks her boyfriend is actually in love with her!" This sounds so weird coming out of my mouth. And Kyle looks so delectably off-limits standing in front of me in his towel.

"He's gonna tell her-"

"Well now he gets to tell her sooner. Because she deserves that much."

"I KNOW I DO!" Kyle screams unexpectedly. "I know she does." He sits down with a sigh, and I choose to not mention the giant gap between the towel's ends that…sigh…

I pretend to take a stab in the dark and say, "Look, I know this is probably hard on you too."

"Ya think?" he replies sarcastically, looking up at me. Then he looks back ahead of him. "I'm getting sick of having to hide this shit just cause he's not man enough to break it off with her."

"Then cut him off!" I sit on the bench next to him.

"Bebe, sex doesn't cure _everything_."

"You're right. No sex makes a man impatient enough to obey your commands."

Kyle shakes his head. "Well, I broke up with him-"

"For a whole five minutes before he stuck his tongue back down your throat?"

Kyle snorts. "Pretty much. God, I'm pathetic."

I pat him on the back. "Yep. Tell Stan he's gotta tell Wendy." I stand up, smoothing out my dress. "Get up, get dressed, and get back your dignity."

Kyle stays put.

"And learn how to sit in a towel next time. Not that I mind, but I don't think you want everyone to see what you have to offer." He looks down, immediately blushes and closes his legs, rearranging the towel. Finally, he gives up, stands up, and looks back at me with uncertain eyes. I grin back. "Do as I say or I'm gonna make you my slave."

He makes a face.

I grin wider. "My LOVE slave." And with that, I turn around and head out the door, leaving Kyle alone, clad in that too-small towel, and contemplating how to break the news to Stan.

---

The first person I see after school is Bebe, and after those torturous last three periods, I can think of nothing better to do than bitch at her for ruining my life. I KNEW I shouldn't have told anyone! I knew it I knew it I knew it I kn-

"Oh my GOD, that Kyle is a tough one to crack!" she yells, loud enough for the entire student body to hear us as she bounds up to me in her supermini mini skirt. "I'm gonna give up on him! I swear!" She smiles warmly at me, making me think that this whole thing could be paranoia.

Upon contact with my shoulder, she whirls around and whispers in my ear, "Anytime now, sweetie."

"Huh?" I ask her, prying myself away from her grasp.

She smiles overly bubbly at nothing in particular. "You can thank me anytime!"

I growl and feel my eye twitch. "Thank you?"

If she doesn't stop smiling, her eyes are gonna transform into little rainbows like anime. "No problem!"

"Did you get some during free period?" I venture, mildly irritated that she could be so happy.

"No…" Her voice trails off so that I know she wants to add to that sentence, but instead, she leads me away from the students.

"What's up with you," I ask monotone and frustrated as soon as we get out of the crowd.

She stops pulling my arm and whisks me around to face her. "That fucker _will_ talk. And soon."

I feel my shoulders tense up. "Oh god, Bee, what'd you do."

"Lit a fire under his ass. One with red hair."

"DAMMIT Bebe I TOLD you not to TELL ANYONE!" I feel the betrayal build up inside of me in the form of tears.

"And I told HIM he better get his 'boyfriend' on the right track before he breaks your heart!" she cries, angrier than usual.

I sigh. It's too late for that.

"Wendy, I _know_ you didn't tell me so that nothing would be done about it."

"ARGH YES I DID! I had to tell SOMEONE!" It was eating me alive!

She laughs. "So you tell ME? Wends, you know how I am."

Did I subconsciously tell her so that she would tell Kyle? I don't think so. I was hoping she'd play the role of the best friend this time, not the gossip queen. "Best friend, remember?" I say, grabbing her arm and raising it for her.

"Exactly. You know how I am. Best friend or not, I can't just sit back and let that douche do that to you! Kyle knows I know, Kyle is _well_ aware of the consequences if he doesn't tell that assramming boyfriend of his where to shove it."

"You convinced Kyle to break up with him again?"

She lowers her head toward mine. "You mean to tell me you _knew_ about when they broke up?"

"I was on the date when it happened." I pause to reflect. "…And I was there when they made up." God, I have a bad habit of showing up at inopportune times. When did I ever become such a doormat? I stand here and watch Bebe fume, angry that Stan could do this to me when really, I should be the one fuming. And I am, don't get me wrong. But…I'm letting him DO it!

No. NO! I won't let him anymore. Bebe may've thought she's lit a fire under Stan's ass, but really, she has lit one under mine. I'm going to catch that boy in his lie, and I'm gonna lay it out for him point blank. And if he doesn't like it…well…if he doesn't like it, then I can make his life miserable. Not that I _wanted_ to stoop to that level. But, you see, I have no choice.

Because now. Now there's going back.


	7. Coming Clean

I owe an apology to my readers, reviewers, and fans. This update has been a long time coming, and it shouldn't have been that way. But see, real life sometimes gets in the way of our characters' lives, causing us to forget about what all there is out there. I lost sight of what I truly enjoy doing—writing. And for that, I feel terrible. But I am back, and my life experiences have made writing this chapter a breeze. It was just getting to this point that was difficult.

Actually, this chapter was hard to write because I had to struggle to keep it from falling into the uber-angst category. I hope there is still a glimmer of humor and whatnot in it. I promise you that the tragedy in this story will in no way even COMPARE to the tragedy in FTT. Consider this chapter as bad as it gets. Oh, and its probably one of the longest chapters I've ever written. I wrote it in the span of three different nights, so I hope it flows well.

On a side note, today was my last day of school for students. I'm a little sad, but I am SO ready to be out of this crazy hellhole. I move back to Ohio on the 21st. Wish me luck!

**Chapter 6- Coming Clean**

I chew on my last fingernail, absentmindedly staring up at the clock. For the past month, time has gone by increasingly slower. I thought that when you get older, time flies. Or maybe the old saying "time flies when you're having fun." That applies here, because I'm having absolutely zero fun. I'm having the opposite of fun, actually.

Today is the day. I made up my mind. Then I chickened out, but Bebe, being the awesome friend she is, has put the whole thing in perspective again with a swift slap to the face. It wasn't harmful, but it sorted my thoughts back into their rightful place.

I know Stan deserves this. He deserves anything I give to him because _he_ is the one betraying me. He's the one lying to my face on a regular basis. I've lost a little of my trust in men because of him. Matter of fact, I've given serious thought to the whole idea of relationships. Thanks to him, I now question the very foundation of two people being together. Is it real? Who really knows if its forever? Nothing lasts that long anyway, right?

Damn him! He's turned me into a pessimist. But I will _NOT_ end up some pussy emo fag who can't hold in my emotions because my life is oh-so-tragic. Everybody's got their problems…mine just happens to seem monumentally earth shattering right now.

And the truth is…I'm over him. Really, I am. Promise!

…Okay, but I'm working on that. I'm not some dumb girl who's going to pine for a guy that bats for the opposite team. I may have given my love to this man for as long as I can remember, but as far as I can tell right now, he's nothing but a scared little boy. And I don't need that. I don't need him.

I've tried listening to a lot of self-empowering songs lately, to sort of pump myself up for the 'big day'. Bebe let me borrow her copy of a burned CD entitled "Girl Power."

It made me laugh, so I had to turn it off.

Motivational talks have done no good either, because I'm not preparing for a big race. I'm not even fighting a fair fight, so there's nothing I can prepare for. All I know is how I'm going to catch that bitch in the act. And by act, I mean…well…I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, but he's left me no choice.

And even now, as the last minutes of the last class of the last day of the week slowly tick away, I'm left with this dreaded feeling that what's about to happen could potentially destroy Stan and everything he stands for.

…but he deserves it, right?

Maybe I _do_ need to look at it as preparing for the big race. Okay, it's not a race, but it kind of _is_ a big deal. A big event. I'm going to force my boyfriend to confess he's been sneaking around behind my back. With another guy, no less. That's pretty fucking huge.

"Hey Testaburger, that boyfriend of yours gonna try out for baseball this year?"

I blink my vindictive thoughts away and focus my attention to the air headed jock strap sitting next to me. Like most of the school, he follows Stan around like a love struck schoolgirl, desperately trying to be like him. It used to make me beam inside, but now I just want to go throw up. If he's their role model, I'd hate to see how they turn out. Ha, if they even knew half of what I know, I guarantee he wouldn't be their role model for long.

"Well?"

I think this guy's name is Jason. Or Josh. Could be Jim, Jeremy, or even Joe. I don't know, don't care, don't really feel like answering him. I simply shrug to show my annoyance for his interruption.

"The guys and I think he'd make a sweet captain. We just wanna know if he's gonna do that or train for football year round. Is he planning on playing ball in college? Where's he going to college?" His questions get needier and needier by the second. I'm about to strangle this poor lackey.

I turn to him angrily. "Look, Justin,"

"I'm Timothy," he corrects, insulted.

"Whatever. I don't know every little move Stan plans to make, okay? I'm not his _mother_." I glare at him, and he shrinks away a little.

He's quiet for a second before starting in again. "Whoa, what happened to you two? I thought you're like the perfect couple. You get in a fight? He hasn't said anything about it."

"Yeah well, he doesn't tell you a lot of things," I add, annoyed that this jerk could have the gull to continue talking when I'm obviously distressed.

The look on his face is priceless. It's a mixture of disbelief and disgust. I can't help but laugh, which pisses him off even more. Does he really think Stan is his buddy? If _I_ can't remember his name, then chances are _Stan_ can't remember his name. I always was the one to help him out with that.

"All I'm doing is asking a few questions, Wendy," he gripes.

I slam my hand down on the table and glare at him. "And all _I'm_ trying to do is get by these last few minutes of this lame class so I can go home, o-kay?"

He jerks his head back and frowns at me. As I turn my attention back to the clock, I hear him mutter, "bitch."

I cringe. Last time somebody called me that name, they got sucker-punched to the face. And no, it wasn't Stan. Now, I kind of wish it had been.

It takes all the strength that I have to ignore that bastard Timothy, and as the last bell rings, I high tail it out of the classroom, never looking back. My goal is to get to Stan's locker before his_ boyfriend_ beats me to it. If I skip through the chem. lab and sprint down the back stairs, I just might make it. I think I can, I think I can, I think…

Damn it.

My pace slows to a leisurely walk. "Hello Kyle," I greet, grinding my teeth and taking in a sharp breath.

"Oh…h-hey Wendy," he replies. He looks nervous, and that stutter problem of his is a recent development—ever since a week ago, when Bebe told him she knew about him and Stan.

I think he knows that any time I could just come right out and accuse him of stealing my boyfriend. He's thinking that Bebe is my best friend, and _she_ knows about it, so it's only a matter of time before I'd know about it.

I like him thinking that way.

"How's it going?" I ask a little too sweetly. It sounds like my voice was dipped into a vat of sugarcoated corn syrup. I almost gag.

He slaps his hands together and brings them apart, snapping when they are furthest apart. Nodding, he purses his lips together and pretends to look all around him—everywhere but me. "It's good."

"Really? That's GREAT to hear!" I gush. I walk up next to him, appalled that his hand just brushed my arm. "Say, Kyle, do you know what Stan is up to tonight?"

"I…uh…well, yeah, Wendy, actually, we need to talk about that." His arms stop swinging, and his fingers stop snapping. And as he gathers a huge breath up to tell me whatever it is he thinks is _his_ place to tell me, I hear Stan's whistle from behind me.

I sigh exasperatedly and spin around on me heels, just in time to see him wink at Kyle. Not me. Of course, he plays it off to be a friend-ly wink and puts his arms around me instead. I instantly pull away.

"Hey babe, what's up?" His voice is all innocent, but I know what he's really thinking. He's wanting to know why I'm getting here so damn early after classes, because this didn't start happening until a week ago. I haven't given him or Kyle any breathing room since the Bebe incident. Kyle knows what I'm doing, and Stan is completely oblivious. I've sucked up all time before, during, and after school possible with Stan, and I've kept him on the phone so that he was unable to be with Kyle. Which, might I add, was absolute torture.

Notice that I said "on the phone." Because, frankly, I can't stand to see his face anymore. Even right now I want to knock that beautiful smile right off track with a pair of brass knuckles. Yet, you'd think that with all of this newfound time spent with his girlfriend, he'd _not_ simply ask 'what's up.' Because he'd KNOW what's up. No, this is his way of wondering why yet again I'm here and not just him and Kyle.

He's going to be pleasantly surprised when I volunteer an absence so that he can spend some quality time with his "best friend."

"Dude, where you going?" Stan yells above my thoughts, and I swivel back around to find Kyle backing away. Such a fucking coward. Both of them are.

"I just remembered something I have to do tonight…" he begins.

"No, stay!" I interject.

Kyle reluctantly stops moving, and I turn back to Stan.

"Baby, I've got some bad news."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It looks like I _won't_ be able to hang out with you tonight after all." I add that 'after all' part in; because of course he didn't _ask_ me to spend time with him or anything. The more attention I give him, the less attention he gives me.

He feigns a frown. "Really? How come?" Well, at least he asked why this time.

"Mom signed us up for this mother/daughter banquet. Kind of a way to make us…bond…again." Man, I'm a good actress! I'm even shuddering when I say that! Course, that much _is_ true. Mom did sign us up for it.

Doesn't mean that I'm going.

He laughs quietly. "Sucks to be you."

"Yeah, so I'll be gone the whole night," I press on, giving him the puppy-dog look. I look in my peripherals to make sure that Kyle is still behind me. He's standing there, looking like he's going to split at any time. I have to move this along.

It's Stan's turn to lay it on thick. In the most obnoxiously fake voice I've heard from him, he whines, "Well, shit Wends! What am I gonna do all night then?"

I pretend to think, and then get an idea. "I know!"

And then I do the unthinkable. I grab Kyle's hand, and I grab Stan's hand, and I join them. "You two spend some time together tonight."

Kyle looks as if he's ready to wet himself, and Stan's grin just widens the longer their hands touch.

Kyle's panicked look eventually shakes Stan back into reality, because he clarifies, "are you sure, babe?"

"Positive," I respond, without missing a beat. I beam at the both of them, wearing my cheesiest smile.

"Uh…dude, I think I've actually got plans," Kyle begins again, but I tell him nonsense and release their hands. Kyle immediately yanks his back into his own gravitational orbit, and Stan stands there looking dumbfounded.

I look down at my watch. "Well, I've gotta go. Bye guys! Have fun, and don't do anything _I_ wouldn't do!"

As I plant a kiss on Stan's cheek and wave to the both of them, I see them glance at each other in unison. Stan has never looked happier to be alive than he does right now.

I've got them right where I want them.

---

"But Wendy, it doesn't WORK if there is no daughter with me! Then it's just a…mother banquet!" Mom yells at me through a veil of tears. I can't believe I brought her to those—I didn't think it was _that_ big of a deal! Apparently I was wrong.

"But mom! I have something that's REALLY important that I HAVE to do!"

"On a Friday night?!? I find that hard to believe."

She had me sit at our kitchen table as she paces a hole into our hard wooden floors. I'm going to regret making her feel this terrible, but I simply cannot go to that banquet! Doesn't she understand what I'm going to do?!?! Doesn't she care?!

She doesn't know. And unfortunately, that's something that can't change.

"Wendy," she begins, her forehead perched between her index finger and thumb, "I rarely do this. But you _will_ come with me tonight. This is not a choice."

I frown at her in disbelief. "Mom! You can't MAKE me go!"

"I can if you're grounded," she whispers, ashamed to have to go that route. This is really damaging mother and I's relationshp. I want to tear Stan a new asshole for that.

"You're going to ground me for not wanting to go to some _**stupid**_ banquet with you?"

BIG mistake.

She gathers a deep breath and wipes away her tears. As she stares me down in frustration, anger, and hurt, I feel my body shrink back into the chair. At this moment in time, I wish I _was_ the chair. It doesn't have feelings—all it does is sit there. It doesn't have to worry about relationships and keeping others in the dark about relationships while damaging important relationships to expose other relationships.

When I get through with this, remind me to NEVER have a boyfriend again.

I wait impatiently for the blow, but my mother just stands there, looking down on me. It is at this point that I truly believe actions speak louder than words. Her not saying anything speaks volumes. And by just searching me with her eyes, it is increasingly guilting me into going. Only that's not what she wants. That's not what I want either. I've never had this kind of response from her. Usually she says SOMETHING!

She's never looked at me this way either. She's disappointed in me, that much I can tell. But there's more. Almost like she's lost a piece of me. Sure, I'm not exactly the momma's girl, but something this important to her is usually one of my priorities. Doesn't she see how this is making me feel?

Great, now we're both crying. And she's slowly shaking her head at me.

And she's backing away from the table.

I watch her only until she exits the room, and then I close my eyes and feel the tears saturate my face. I sniff and attempt to wipe away the evidence, but they fall harder with every passing moment.

Okay, that does it! Stan has ruined my perfect attendance record, he's ruined my grades, my concentration, my self-esteem, my trust, and now he's affecting my family members. This has GOT TO STOP. I suck it up, breathe in deeply, and push myself from my chair. I mimic the steps my mother took not five minutes before into the living room, where she is sitting on our couch, pretending to read a magazine. I know she's only pretending because it's my dad's Hunting and Fishing magazine. And mom needs glasses to read anyway; otherwise it's a tangled blur of images.

Without even looking up at me, she flips a page. I take this as my cue to sit beside her on our armchair. I lean forward, propping my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands together, directly in front of her.

"Mom, look, I didn't mean what I said in there," I begin.

"Wendy, you've made it perfectly clear how you feel," she responds, continuing to be 'absorbed' in the magazine.

"That's just it, mom. I haven't."

At this, she smashes the two covers together and looks at me with reserved intrigue. "So you've come to finish me off?" She can be such a drama queen sometimes. "I've heard more than enough of what I can handle tonight, young lady."

I sigh. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't _want_ to hurt you." She snorts. "But there is something that I absolutely have to do tonight, mother. You have to believe me because, well, you have no reason not to." I'm taking a chance that she won't argue that last point, given my recent evolution in behavior.

She opens her mouth to retaliate, so I make my next statement.

"And you know that I wouldn't pass something up that is this important to you normally, don't you?"

She echoes my sigh. "Wendy, that's the problem. I don't want this to just be important to me. I want you to want to come too."

Well that ain't gonna happen, woman, so don't hold your breath. Those banquets are about as fun as a staring contest when you have a lazy eye. But I refrain from mentioning that. "Usually I would!"

"What's with you lately, Wendy? Its like I don't even know you anymore."

I sigh again. It has become habit when people ask me that question. EVERYONE has asked me that question. Even Stan, the reason for it all.

"I'm just…a lot is going on right now," I try to explain. I know that if I even mention Stan, she's going to ask me how it is between us and want to know full out details with when and where our honeymoon will be and how many children I plan on having, even though I already told her, and what their names will be. She's the most avid supporter of the Stan/Wendy fanclub, and it breaks my heart that she's not going to be able to hold that position for very much longer.

But she can be blissfully ignorant for a few more days. Until she hears the rumors from the rest of town. .

…Maybe it _would_ be better if I told her. Coming from my lips, it might be more of a shock, but she'll have me to ask questions to after she recovers. This might actually be more trying on her than it has been on me.

She looks at me for elaboration. If I'm going to do this, I better rip the Band-Aid off instead of peeling slowly.

"Mom, Stan's gay," I say clearly.

"How's he being gay, sweetie? I knew it had to do with him. I remember when your father and I would have a fight, it would color everything in my worl-"

"No, he's not _being_ gay," I correct her. Shame on her for learning the politically incorrect lingo of my generation. "He _is_ gay. And he's cheating on me with a boy."

I try to gauge her reaction, but she is literally speechless.

"With Kyle, actually. His best friend. I saw them together, I've heard them together, and I'm not just making this up. As much as I don't want it to be true, it is, and tonight I have plans to get him back." Everything I said is the truth, but I'm amazed at how it just flows right from my mouth. It's like liquid coming back up—I don't feel a thing. Sure, it still burns after the fact. And although it pains me to no end that it is Stan, telling my mother that my boyfriend is gay doesn't have the effect that it should. Which is a good thing!

Mother blinks, and then blinks again. "How did you…how do you…are you sure?"

I give her the 'get-real' look. "I saw them together, mom. I _know_ you wanted me to marry Stan and we were going to bring you grandchildren, but it won't be happening anytime soon…or ever. I'm pretty sure this means I'll never be able to give him what he wants."

"So he's doing this all behind your back? That isn't right!"

"No, it's not. Not right at all. Which is why I've planned tonight for getting him to confess." I feel the need to hold my mom's hand, because she looks like she's about ready to crumble at her foundation.

She takes a big gulp. "And how, exactly, are you going to accomplish that?"

"…I know they're together tonight. I made sure of it. And I know that Kyle knows I know. So he'll be trying to break it off with Stan, but if I know Stan, and I do…he won't succeed. My plan is for Bebe to drive me over there and catch them in the act."

"Act?"

Come on, mom, don't play stupid. "Yes, act. Gay boys have sex too."

"You're going to walk in on them purposefully?!" Her eyes widen and she instantly grabs my hand. "Sweetie, I know you're looking for revenge, but do you really think seeing them in such an intimate position is going to make you feel better?"

"Yes," I reply immediately. "Mom, I've had a lot of time to sit on this. And while I still love Stan and can't believe what is happening, I'm not in love with him anymore."

"How long have you known?" This is like telling Bebe all over again.

"For too long now. About two months. It's time."

"Wendy, I really don't think this is such a good idea. I mean, he's been your boyfriend since you learned how to spell his name. I know you think that it's all water under the bridge, but if you go tonight and see them together, ANY kind of together, it's going to hurt you. And you don't need that right now. You're going through enough. Oh honey, I wish you would have told me!" Mom yanks me by my hands to come join her on the couch. I do, and she consoles me with her welcoming motherly hug.

I turn my face to keep it from getting smashed into her shoulder and breathe deeply. "Mom, I'll be fine. Bebe will be there; we're going to call him out on being unfaithful."

She pats my head and lovingly strokes my hair. "You be careful. I don't like this idea one bit." The expression on her face tells me just that.

"I know you don't, but I'm doing it with or without your permission."

Her concerned look doesn't fade completely, but an understanding one forms also. "This is more important than the banquet. Why didn't you just tell me what was going on instead of acting like a ungrateful little brat?" She smiles weakly as I pull away from her.

"…It's kind of hard to tell your mother that your boyfriend is gay," I lie. That's not the reason at all.

But that's more than enough reason for her. She hugs me again, and we discuss the matter a bit longer, her taking the opportunity to soak up every detail I give to her. I'm sure she's still in shock over Stan's orientation change, but I explain to her that it wasn't a change as much as a realization. And when I tell her that, she begins to cry. Poor mom. She wanted Stan to be her son-in-law almost more than I wanted him to be my husband.

Was he really that great of a guy? I mean, how great can he be if he's doing what he's doing now?

As I walk upstairs to prepare for the sabotage, I think back to the conversation that just took place. There was some strong mother/daughter bonding—more than any banquet could bring. I think mom was satisfied by the way she assumed the motherly caring position to help me out. And by expressing her concerns. Sure, it's going to be hard seeing him with Kyle. But I've imagined it over and over in my head how it's going to play out, and I'm ready for anything.

---

"You look absolutely ridiculous," I express aloud to Bebe. She got this brilliant idea, while I was consoling mother, to sort of 'spy' on the boys to make sure we could have access to them wherever they went. Lucky for us, they've decided to stay at Stan's house tonight. Which couldn't be more perfect, considering I know everything about his place, including where they keep the spare key. I didn't share the information with Bee though, and so she had been parked outside of his house and occasionally sneaking up to the windows to peer in for the past two hours. She is one dedicated friend.

She turns to me and frowns. "I think I look cute!" she pouts, pressing her hand into her chest, as if what I said was so incredibly offensive. But you tell me what _you _would think if your most feminine best friend pulled up to your house wearing a camouflage jump suit and a bandanna.

"You look like a Barbie doll going into combat."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you very much," she says, and turns her attention back to the road. "It takes a special type of girl to make this outfit look good."

"You're special, alright," I mutter.

She playfully hits me. "Shut up! It's my dad's old army suit. But I gathered it at the seams to make it more fitting. Then I cut the legs off and sewed them into cuffs right here," she explains, pointing to her knees. Really, I have to admit, it's not half bad. Girls trying to be ahead of the fashion curve would probably spend major dough in a store for something like this one-piece jumpsuit. And she's right, she looks good in it. Bebe looks good in most anything anyway.

The cool thing about her—and what makes her a step above the rest—is her creative sense of do-it-yourself. She would never admit to _anyone_ that she tailors her own clothes, but she is a whiz at sewing and mending, which is something I never could get into. That is why you'll never see another outfit like hers anywhere. She accessorizes, modifies, and miniaturizes everything in her closet. And this jumpsuit is just another example—she's practically busting out of it with the seam she made at the chest. Good God, she could use those things as weapons.

"Could you be any more obvious about this? This isn't Operation: Get Caught for us."

"No, it's Operation: Coming Clean for them." She reaches around to fish something from her back seat with her left hand still on the steering wheel. Once she finds it, she shoves it in my lap. "Look! I even made a diagram!" She smiles proudly, and I can't help but giggle. The drawings are sketchy at best, but I can tell clearly what it is showing. Two boys having sex, and then me (looking plain) and her (looking fabulous, the only thing in color) catching them. If she devoted half of this energy into her schoolwork, she'd be a brilliant theorist.

"Love the heels," I claim, looking over the drawing. The detail on her outfit is so meticulous; I can see everything down to the lace up stilettos her character is wearing. I lean over to see what shoes she IS wearing. Thank God they are just regular black pumps.

"I thought they'd be a bit much."

I snort. "Ya think?"

She makes a left turn into Stan's neighborhood. I glare at the houses to my right, one in particular. As Kyle's house passes, my stomach tightens into a ball. His car is in the driveway, but all of the lights are on. Bebe drives slow enough that I see movement inside. More than two people, which means that Kyle is still at Stan's. Unless he broke up with him.

But, again, I know Stan. I know how manipulative those damn beautiful eyes of his are. And his smooth, sexy voice inviting you to stay longer with him. I guarantee if they are together right now, they are _not_ talking about me. Or talking at all.

"Ha! Just like it was when I was here before." She's referring to Stan's car, which is parked haphazardly on his driveway, as though he and Kyle couldn't waste another second to park correctly. As we drive up closer, sure enough, all of the lights are off inside. But it's only a little after 8, so there is still natural light from the outside. Stan's house is located in the middle of a cul-de-sac, just a street down from Kyle's. You have to drive into the neighborhood, around a grassy median, turn right onto Kyle's road, then hang a left to get to Stan's. I got so confused the first few times I was out here—I ended up on the other side of the community near Stark's Pond and had to call Stan to ask for directions. Bebe knows it as well as I do from all of her house visits to the rich, needy boys. She has never been inside Kyle's house. Not once.

"You think they're-"

"Doing it?" I finish, already knowing she was going to say something more vulgar. "Probably."

The car slows down until we are just coasting to a stop, and when we hit the beginning of the cul-de-sac, she shifts her car into park. Stan or Kyle wouldn't have a clue it's Bebe's car, and I know they probably have better things to do than look out the window. As long as it's not in the driveway, we're good. Unbuckling her seat belt, she looks to me. "Are you sure you're ready for this? It might not be something you want, or need, to see."

I huff. "You sound like my mother."

"She has a point, Wends. Knowing he does this kind of shit is one thing…but seeing it? That's an eyeful. Trust me."

"I already _saw_ it!" Wait, what does she mean by that? "What do you mean 'trust you'?"

"I…I mean…well its just a very…awkward thing to see…" she stammers.

I eye her suspiciously. "And you know…how…?"

Her mouth opens, then quickly clamps shut in mid-breath.

My face drains of all its color, and my expression sobers to the point of being expressionless. "You've seen them too, haven't you," I mutter.

"Not…exactly…" She frowns. "Look sweetie, lets just do this, okay? You have your mind made up-"

"NO!" I roar. "TELL ME what it is you SAW! Don't lie to me, Bee. I'm pissed off enough."

I watch her intently as she bites her lip. "I didn't see them fuck, I promise."

"But you saw them doing something?"

"I heard them fucking. In the showers that day." She takes a big gulp and stares at me, wide-eyed.

I blink to process this information. I feel my nostrils flare, and I push an invisible object around in my mouth with my tongue. My head starts to nod, taking it in. "So…he's not only cheating on me in private…he's doing it at SCHOOL now too?" I can hardly believe my ears. That fucking no-good-for-nothing piece of shit! I'm going to get him back. I'm going to get him back good! He'll be SORRY he ever fucked with me. He'll be sorry he ever MET me.

He'll be sorry he ever existed when I'm through with him. I'm so angry I think I could literally strangle him with my bare hands, and then force-feed his remains to his cowardly boyfriend! I'm going to tear them BOTH a new asshole so that they can never sit down again. I'll make it physically impossible for them to enjoy any kind of pleasure. I'll-

"I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd be upset," Bebe explains, trying her best to cover her ass. She knows I'm furious, and she's feeling guilty.

"Upset? I'm not upset," I lie. "I'm FINE."

"Wendy,"

"I'm FINE, I said! Now, lets go in there, and do what we said we were going to do." I yank my seat belt out of its socket and rip open the car door. If I'm not careful, I'll get us busted with all of the noise I'm making.

Bebe reluctantly follows suit. As she scampers out of the car, I see her more timid than I've ever before. I'm not mad at her though—I understand her reasoning for not telling me. If I were her, I wouldn't have told me either. But him…HIM. That asshole I used to call my boyfriend. That asshole I used to _love_! Never again.

NEVER AGAIN!

"Let's go," I order. My feet begin stomping forward without my permission.

Bebe runs over to me and puts her hands on my shoulder. "Wendy, calm down! I don't think we should do this right now,"

"YES," I interrupt, seething with unfathomable fury.

"_But_," she continues, slightly irritated that I cut her off. "If we're going to do it, we have to be quiet!"

I sigh.

"So, take a deep breath, close your eyes, and find your center." She demonstrates what she means and lets go of my shoulders.

Find my center. My center. My center is my heart, which is ripping like paper as we speak. It's being replaced by a cold, black, heavy object. All I can hear is the little voice in my head telling me to 'get him.'

"Remember that you love him, Wendy," she reminds me, and it causes me to break out into a fit of hysterical laughter.

"Love him? Yeah right! I don't love a lying, cheating bastard. The sooner we can expose him to the world, the sooner I can get away from the ridicule and start my life again!!!"

Bebe closes her eyes and sighs. "You love him, honey. That's why this is hurting so bad. It's okay to feel that way. You thought he was the one for you. We all did."

"He doesn't deserve any of my feelings, Bee. I'm going to hit that fucker where it hurts. Let's GO." I've never been so determined to humiliate him. At first, this was about my dignity. Then it was about preserving our reputations and dignities. Now, its just about treating him the way he's been treating me. My brief moment in a revenge-free world has long since passed.

Before I step onto his lawn, I give myself an internal chill pill. Because, she's right. I can't go barging in there and expect to catch them red-handed. I have to be sneaky. No more Miss Nice Girl. My next steps take me directly in front of his front porch. Here we have no view of any room except for the foyer right in front of the house.

"SSSSSSSHHHHH" I hear Bebe whisper loudly, all the way from the driveway. I hate when people do that. When you're told to get quiet, so some jerk yells, "QUIET," or ssshhes the crowd thinking he's being a big help, when really he's contributing to the noise. I wasn't even making any sounds!

I wait for her to catch up to me. "What are you doing?" she asks, confused. "I thought we were going in the back door."

"I just want to see if I can see anything…"

"No, are you crazy? And if they are upstairs and come down, we're going to be toast! You're smarter than this, use your brain!" she scolds me.

I sigh loudly and tiptoe back off the porch. I see her follow me again, this time, we crouch as we get to each window, until we are safely around the corner and on our way to the back of the house.

When we reach the giant bay window to the living room, I pause. I lean outwards to see if I can see anything, only to find that the thick maroon curtains have been closed. And I swear I can hear heavy breathing and panting, but that has to just be my imagination. After all, we are outside and they are indoors. They aren't _that_ loud.

I motion for Bebe to come to the window. She does, and I point to it. "I bet they're right in there. Can you hear that?" I can't hear anything, but that could be because all I can hear is static.

Her face is hard to read as she cocks her head in for a closer listen. Suddenly, her eyes widen. "Yeah, I do!"

Just to be sure, I press my ear against the window delicately. Yeah, they're in there. Same sounds I heard before, only louder and more rapid. That spineless jellyfish Kyle couldn't do it. He couldn't break it off. He couldn't even pause his hormones long enough for them to have an important conversation. I knew he wouldn't be able to.

I'm through listening to this. It's time to make my move.

"This way," I motion for Bebe. She imitates my actions, and we practically crawl all the way to the back of the house. I walk up to the double French doors that lead out to the patio and the hot tub (yes, they have a hot tub), tugging on the handle to see if we'll get in easily.

No suck luck. I can imagine Stan took every precaution to conceal his secret in his house before he fucked it.

"Bee, see that plant?" I gesture to what I'm talking about, and she nods. "There's a key in the plate underneath the pot. Get it!" She nods again, and slightly trips over her heels to get to it. It's back behind a wooden checkered fence, but once you get back there, it's relatively easy to pick the plant up and fish out the prize. I stand clear of the doors, lest the possibility of the boys finishing up and walking around.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Bebe retrieves the key, climbs over the fence (which is kind of hard because its at least 4 ft tall), and jogs up to me. "Here," she says, placing the item in my hand. I make a fist and clench it strongly with my grip before picking it up. Not surprisingly, it unlocks the door, and I click open the doorknob as silently as possible.

Motioning for her to step inside, I immediately trail her onto the shiny tile of Stan's dining room. From here, we have two options. We can side swipe the living room and corner them in the entryway to the foyer, or we can turn right and catch them in the connecting hallway from the kitchen to the living room. I press my index finger to my lips and decide to go for choice #2.

I can't believe I'm sneaking into Stan's house like this, but the moans and grunts I hear keep me from feeling too bad. I've never, no never, wanted to purposely walk in someone having sex, but now it's not a big deal. I'm glad I wore these shoes—they are soundless to this potentially loud floor. Bebe, on the other hand, has intelligently taken off her heels and is now carrying them in her hands.

"Oh, God, _STAN_!" Kyle praises, and I cringe.

All of the sudden, Stan stops breathing. Then he sucks in air sharply. Bebe and I are still standing in the dining room—I'm too afraid to move an inch. I listen to my ex boyfriend moan in ecstasy with someone other than me. So what? It's happened before.

I take my first steps. In doing so, I hear Stan let out that air excruciatingly slowly, and I know he's came. I hear Kyle rapidly panting too. It may seem like I'm making it a pastime of mine to hear them together, but I can assure you, my mission is strictly professional.

Stan takes a few more deep breaths, and upon the third one, he comes into my view. I freeze in mid-step. They are laying parallel of me, but the only way they'll see us is if they have eyes in the back of their head. I take another step, and my feet sink into the carpet of the living room. I am literally ten feet away from them, but the couch is blocking their view—not mine. Bebe weasels her way into the doorway to get a clear view, so she sees what I see. And I see Stan reaching down in between them to pull off a condom. I see Kyle lower his legs from Stan's shoulders and stretch them out onto the blanketed carpet. I see Stan slap the used contraceptive onto the carpet beside them and prop his elbows up. I see Kyle bring his hand up to his face and wipe away the accumulation of sweat on his forehead.

I see Stan bring his hand to Kyle's cheek and lightly stroke it back and forth. I see Kyle smile so brightly it lights up the entire room.

I see Stan lean forward, placing a tender kiss on Kyle's lips. I see Kyle return the kiss with as much or more love than I've ever seen.

And I feel my heart shatter into a million unrecognizable pieces. I feel my world collapse with me standing in the middle.

I feel everything that every sad song sings about, and I feel every ache anyone's ever felt for another person.

I feel complete and utter loneliness. The kind that swallows you whole and leaves you barren inside.

I feel myself losing all sense of hope.

Bebe jabs me in the side, but I stand motionless. How does someone describe heartbreak until they've put themselves in a position where they _asked_ for it? As Stan returns the smile, I understand now what my mom warned me about. What Bebe second-guessed. I didn't count on them actually showing love for each other. Having sex is just that, and that's all I've heard or seen them do. Even the words they say to each other were nothing because the action of Stan still being with me spoke louder.

But this…this is impossible to deny. They don't have to say a word and you know what each of them is feeling. Kyle closes his eyes as Stan remains on top of him, their nude flesh entangled. Stan lets out a blissful sigh, and runs his fingers through Kyle's auburn tresses.

Bebe elbows me again, and this time, I let out a release of air. I turn my attention to her only momentarily, but when I re-focus on Stan and Kyle, they are staring directly at me.

Wait, they are staring at me! Shit!

Instantly, Stan shakes himself out of his reverie, his eyes widening to the size of golf balls. "HOLY SHIT WENDY!" Kyle is much more subdued, but his lack of movement causes me to believe he's in shock too. I freeze up again.

Stan scrambles to his knees, never taking his eyes off of me. At first sight of Kyle's exposure, I see Bebe out of the corner of my eye. She is grinning, which angers me. Luckily, Kyle grabs a blanket in a split second and sits himself up on the couch. Stan, however, stands completely naked. I don't think it has registered with him. He covers his mouth with his hand instead of speaking.

All of this happens in the amount of time it takes to blink.

"Wendy, I…I…my God what are you doing here? I thought you had a thing with your mom!"

Is he talking to me? He's talking to me! Quick! Say something!

"…"

"She shouldn't have to explain why she came to see you, Stan," Bebe speaks for me.

Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "She set us up, Stan."

Stan pauses, confused. He turns to Kyle, then to Bebe, but his eyes stay on me. "Wait…what? You did what?"

"…"

SPEAK!

"She KNEW about you two," Bebe fills in. "She's known that you've been cheating on her Stan. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I…I was going to tell her!"

"Oh BULLSHIT. The only reason you would, would be if Kyle broke up with you. Even then I'm not so sure you wouldn't try to patch things up with him while keeping her on the side." Bebe is being my voice. Why the hell can't I say anything? I look at Stan through a battered victim's eyes—I'm FURIOUS at him. But I can't stop the tears that are rolling down my cheeks anymore than I can speak my mind.

"That's what he'd do," Kyle speaks up. He looks at Stan angrily. "That's what he _did_."

Stan closes his eyes, trying to make sense of this all. He is still naked. "So wait, how long have you known?" He directs this question specifically to me.

I clench my jaw. "Too long," I whisper through the tears. This is so pathetic. I am being so pathetic! HAVE SOME COURAGE!

"Shit, I swear I was going to tell you, Wendy! I…I was just waiting until-"

"Until your wedding day? Come on, Stan, get real. You weren't going to tell her shit, and you know it," Bebe growls. "I would've thought that my talk with you would've made a difference, Kyle."

"…" Kyle looks caught off-guard.

"Well, congratulations, Stan. You've managed to play two incredible people for a long time now. But this is where it ends. Come clean, or you'll be sorry you were ever alive." I've never heard Bebe talk this way!

Stan looks mortified. Good! He turns to me again. I force to compose myself, and glare at him with unforgiving eyes. "Yes, Stan. Tell me the truth. You don't have to admit it to me. The hard part is over—I found out for myself." He gets ready to say how, so I continue. "The last time we slept together. I left my backpack, and when I came back to get it…"

"JESUS CHRIST! You've known since _then_?!?" Stan cries in disbelief. "Jesus God, I'm so sorry Wendy!" Well, at least he remembers when that was.

"And you!" Bebe attacks, pointing her finger accusingly at Kyle. "You had a whole WEEK to tell him we knew. But you couldn't keep your dick inside your pants for long enough to spare this poor girl's feelings! You're just as bad as Stan!"

Kyle's expression turns to hurt. And guilt.

"A week to what?" Stan pipes in. "You were supposed to what?"

Kyle responds despondently. "I'm sorry, Wendy." He looks at me. "This is fucking ridiculous. I can't do this anymore." He stands up, cradling the blanket in his hand.

"You've said that before, Kyle," I remind him. "At the restaurant that night."

"You heard that too?" he exclaims incredulously. "My God! I don't know how…" He walks over to Stan. "Dude, that's it. I won't be a part of this anymore. Either you come out to _everyone_, or we're over."

"Okay, I will, just don't leave!" Stan pleads. He's miserable, and it's obvious.

"You have to do it now," Kyle insists. Funny how Stan and I's relationship isn't the issue here. How quickly that was glazed over.

"I will! Just give me time!" He turns to me again. "Wendy! You've got to help us out! Just give us a few weeks, until I can come up with a way to break it to my dad, then you can break up with me and I'll take what he gives me."

I blink in disbelief. "Did you really just ask me that?"

"NO, he didn't!" Kyle's voice booms with anger and impatience. "Stan, stop being such a selfish asshole. Don't ask her to do any favors for you. If you can't get your shit together now, I'm out."

"But Kyle,"

"Not next month, not next week, not even tomorrow. RIGHT fucking now. If you can't call your dad up and say 'we gotta talk', then I'm walking out that door."

Oh wow. Finally, Kyle grows some balls. I hate to hate him, despite him being an accomplice to my heartbreak.

"Call him now? But he and my mom are gone for the weekend!"

"STOP MAKING EXCUSES! You've had a YEAR to tell people, FUCK!"

…a year? A YEAR?!?! _That's how long this has been going on?!?!?!?!?!?!?!_ My God, I really AM an idiot wearing blinders. And now I hate Kyle again.

"A year?!" Bebe shrieks.

Stan sighs. "It's not that easy…"

"You've had ample time, dude. And now, it's your choice. Lose the fear, or lose me. It's that simple."

Stan's shoulders drop. "You know I can't do that, dude," he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

I watch as Kyle's heart shatters, not unlike mine did minutes earlier. His head rolls around in a kind of "yes/no" orbit and he purses his lips together. "Fine," he states. And with that single word, he walks away. He walks around Stan, around the couch, and directly up to me.

"I'm sorry, Wendy. You never deserved this. I'm sorry to have ever had a part in it."

I blink back the tears, and try hard to glare at him. But I know what he's feeling, and I know he's being sincere. Because deep down, Kyle really is a good guy. He just happened to fall in love with the same greedy bastard I did. As he exits the room and up the stairs to presumably gather his clothes, I stare Stan down for the dog that he is.

He looks so lost, standing without clothes and without his sidekick. I can't believe he didn't find something to cover himself up with. But that isn't what is distracting me.

It's the expression on his face. Like his whole world has collapsed with him in the middle of it. Like his heart just shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces. Like he understands what every sad love song is singing about.

Like he's lost all sense of hope.

Upon hearing Kyle's footsteps down the stairs, Bebe takes her cue to exit. My eyes follow Stan's as he helplessly watches Kyle leave him. Once the two others are out of sight, his attention turns back to me.

And for the first time in my life, I see Stan break down. I've seen him cry before, but the tears become so uncontrollable that he begins to hiccup and has to sit down to avoid from passing out. He finally grabs a blanket to cover himself up, but I think it's more to calm his chills than to hide his lack of apparel. He looks up to me for guidance—some kind of advice—but I have none. After all, I'm the girl whose heart he just killed.

As he dissolves into rounds of sniffing, choking, and hyperventilating, I observe him with the sympathy of a cold-blooded killer. I stand in the same place I was when I walked in on them, judging him; despising him. I know his whole world is over. I know he is hurting. I know he needs a shoulder to cry on.

But I can't be that person. When he looks up at me again, I quietly back away, heading out the direction that I came. Placing the key on the kitchen table, I take my exit.

That's the last time I'll ever set foot in Stan Marsh's house.


	8. From Stranger to Just Strange

I think I am FINALLY over my writer's block! I wrote this whole chapter in pretty much one setting because I wanted to assure you that I have not given up on it, though it has been quite some time. Thanks to some of my awesome writer friends, I've gained some perspective on the whole story, and stopped scolding myself for giving myself the challenge of writing it in Wendy's POV (REALLY hard, by the way). And they also gave me some ideas on how to continue onwards with the story. So here's to the people behind the scenes!

This is probably the most dialogue-filled chapter I've ever written. And it's between two people you wouldn't expect, too. I hope you all like. Next update should be timelier.

**Chapter 7- From Stranger to Just Strange**

I think I'm broken. That image of Stan crumbling at his very foundation is replaying over and over in my head, and no matter how many sedatives I take, or how many drinks I down, it isn't going away. What's worse is that I've never had to rely on substances before to mask what I'm really feeling. I didn't say it was a good thing. I can't even say it's successful. But after eleven agonizing days of waking up to this feeling of absolute nothingness, I'm willing to try anything.

And that is why I am sitting in this disgustingly dingy restaurant booth on a Tuesday night, drinking what I can only assume to be some kind of hard liquor concealed in an otherwise normal dark soda. Bebe has insisted from Day 1 that we go out, and although I've refused time and time again, she collaborated with my mother and, together, they got me out of the house, regardless of the fact it's a school night.

School hasn't mattered to me lately anyway. Nothing really has. I know they say you have a hard time when you lose your first love, but what happens in my circumstance? I didn't just lose my first love…I lost the love of my life. And that doesn't even bother me as much as I wasn't the love of _his_ life. I'm not even the right gender for him.

But you know the clincher? The thing that gets me the most? After all of this turmoil and agony and emptiness, I still feel sorry for the bastard. Because what I saw on his face when Kyle walked out was what I felt inside of me when I found out about those two.

I take another sip. This stuff tastes like pure turpentine, but if I cough or spit it back up, the servers in this joint are going to throw me out for being underage. Nevermind the fact that Bebe snuck it in here in her purse.

Is this what I've been reduced to? Sitting in a crusty bar/grill on a school night drinking liquid nitrous oxide at age seventeen? I pick up the concoction and chug it.

"Whoa, slow down, Wends. You don't wanna be heaving all night," Bebe warns. She taps her finger on the table and looks around the room with her legs crossed all lady-like. I don't know why the hell she brought me here of all places. If she's trying to cheer me up, she's failing miserably. She hasn't said more than three words to me since we've been here. But I can't help but notice how her mannerisms make me think she's up to something. The more she glances about, the more I see she's looking for someone.

I slam the fragile glass on the table, nearly shattering it. "Bebe, if you are waiting for your next hookup and using me as a cover story, you have two seconds to pay the bill and drive me home."

She stops tapping and looks at me with an annoyed sigh. "Sometimes you can be so difficult."

I roll my eyes. While I love Bebe and her efforts to cheer me up, this the lamest, most half-assed attempt I've ever known anyone to make. But, I'm beginning to not feel my tongue anymore, so pretty soon, I'll be roaring like a hyena once again. Just like last night. And the night before. The problem with getting the buzz high is the depression that follows.

I promise I'm not turning into an alcoholic. I've never even touched hard liquor until last week.

"Ah, there we go," Bebe says, her eyes locked on someone behind me who presumably just entered. The lights flicker on and off around me, and I can't really make out faces anymore—only the glowing neon racing light that spans the front counter/bar.

But I do see a figure emerge from the shadows to sit in a booth adjacent and down the row from ours. Bebe watches the person like a hawk, taking in every last detail. At last, she turns to me. I blink to refocus on her.

"He comes in every night now," she tells me, as if I'm supposed to care. "I wouldn't have noticed except that Kenny brought me here three times last week, and every night, he walked in and sat at that same booth."

My thoughts stray. "Kenny takes you _here_ for a date? Bebe, you've got to have standards!"

She dismisses my question with the wave of her hand. "Why do you think he sits in the same spot every time?" She turns away and answers her own question. "I bet it holds special significance."

"Probably," I agree, shrugging and taking another gulp of the increasingly tasty drink. I smack my lips together loudly and stare at the bottom of the glass. "Time for a refill."

Bebe turns back to me. "Do you think he and Stan came here to get away?"

My eyes immediately shoot from Bebe's face to the figure again. Now I can make it out. Red, curly hair. Good God, she brought me to stare at Kyle. "What?" I ask incredulously. _WHY_ would she bring me here to see him?!?!

"No one really comes in this place except creepy old men and burnout townies. You think they came here to be alone?"

I loose traction on my glass and it slips through my fingers. Luckily, my hand is still on the table, so it only makes a loud echo on the Formica surface. "Did you really bring me here to talk about those two?"

Bebe turns her focus back from Kyle to me, first placing the glass away from my reach then clasping her hands on the table. "Wendy, you're a train wreck." Thanks, Bee. "You look like shit, you barely eat, you're drinking 80 proof liquor for Christ sake! You can't go on like this!"

I shrug and fall back into the booth.

"Sweetie, you know I love you, but you are driving me CRAZY! GET OVER HIM! He is NOT worth it! I mean, for _TWO_ incredible people to be wasting their lives away because of this asshole, this is INSANE! Just look at Kyle. Look at him!" She implores me to do so, and I do. He does look rather pathetic. Undeniably miserable, that's for sure. He's all alone in that giant booth, staring up at the TVs behind the bar. I can identify with the expression his face. He looks hopeless and tragically despondent. I feel a pang of sympathy.

More than a week of school has gone by since Kyle broke it off with Stan, and Stan has yet to confess to the school. I mean, why would he now? The guy he wants to be with refuses to even look at him, much less speak to him, and there's no reason in his stubborn brain to cause a stir if its only a one time thing. He just goes on like nothing is wrong, and he plays it off as a fight between him and his best friend, and him and his girlfriend. It is understandable why Kyle is so upset.

"You can't let Stan get away with it, Wends! You and Kyle have the power to FUCK HIS LIFE UP! One admission of his sexuality from you two and the star quarterback would be the prime target for homophobic jocks everywhere!"

"I…I don't want to fuck his life up," I confess. And I have no idea why I don't—I guess I'm not a vindictive person. I've grown soft in my older age.

Bebe growls. "You're going to let the people of town continue to admire that selfish phony??! Well then let ME tell everyone," she begins.

"No Bee. It's not your place to tell. And its not Kyle's or mine either. Stan'll come around. You forget, I know him." I pause that thought. "At least, I used to know him."

Bebe shakes her head at me. "Go talk to Kyle! You two are the saddest people on the face of this planet right now. I can't stand it."

"Talk to Kyle?" I ask, unsure I heard her command correctly. After all, I am the ex-girlfriend to his ex-boyfriend. And he's the ex-boyfriend to my ex-boyfriend. Such a twisted triangle.

She nods twice, seeming pleased with herself for bringing me here to do just that. "You'd be surprised how much you two have in common now that the one thing you had in common is out of the picture."

I raise my eyebrow and tap my index finger on a dent on the Formica tabletop. I eye Kyle, almost considering Bebe's idea when I see him sigh for the umpteenth time in two minutes. That boy looks like someone just flattened his heart with a steamroller. And smiled while doing so. I can barely stand to look at him because I keep feeling an overwhelming urge to go over and hug him. I shouldn't feel this compassionate towards him, should I? I mean, he was an accomplice to sneaking around behind my back.

Still, I can't help but feel some sort of an attachment to him. And, really, what Bebe says makes sense. I always did think we would've been pretty good friends without Stan in the picture. I look to Bebe imploringly. "You really think it's a good idea to go over and talk to him? He's bound to hate me for ruining his life!"

She laughs, and I'm not sure why. "Why would HE hate YOU? You're being ridiculous, Wendy. Kyle's not immature like that. You'll see. Go over there," she assures me, gesturing over to the sad boy.

I bite my lip and attempt to make a split-second decision in the midst of my inebriated state. It could be that what Bebe is saying is logical, or I could just be really, really drunk and not feel it yet. Either way, I slide myself carefully out of the booth and steady myself as I stand up. Yep, that head rush of standing up too fast just hit me. I fall back down in the booth.

Bebe laughs again. "Get up, you alcky. People are gonna think you're a lightweight."

"I am," I admit, grabbing onto the table to re-position myself on the edge of the booth. So far, nobody seems to have noticed me here, and I intend to make it stay that way. That nobody includes Kyle. He has yet to look anywhere away from that TV screen, which I have a feeling he's not really watching anyway.

"You can't handle soda?" Bebe continues, loud enough for the server nearby to hear. Oh yeah! I keep forgetting that's illegal. When I forget things like that, I know I've had too much to drink.

"I need more," I decide, and Bebe flags down our own server. When she's brought me out another diet cola and she's safely out of view, Bebe drinks half of it and dumps another few shots of the disdainful liquid to refill the glass. I down it in record time, and the world begins to spin. I see glowing edges around everything and everyone, including Kyle, who has yet to move from his position. Although sometime during my binge, he ordered a soda and a plate of fries for himself.

"More," I demand, pointing into my empty cup, but Bebe frowns and shakes her head.

"I want you to talk to Kyle, not puke on him."

I make a face at her comment, and she nudges me out of the booth with her foot. I slowly stand up this time, and that seems to work much better. I don't remember the last time I felt so lackadaisical. All of my troubles seem to melt away with every burning drink, even though I know they're just lying in a puddle around me—I'm just waiting to slip and fall face first into them again. And talking to someone who I've vowed to stay away from is a hop, skip, and a jump away. After all, Kyle isn't the enemy here. Stan is the evildoer.

"Good luck," she whispers to my back as I make my way to the loneliest boy ever to grace this diner. I turn around and mouth "thanks", trying my best not to giggle. But, as I turn back to face Kyle, that giggle is stifled, and replaced by an exaggerated sigh.

To this, he looks up from his fries, which have far too much ketchup on them to be edible.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Without missing a beat, or showing any emotion, he replies, "looks like you need to."

I grab onto the table edge and lower myself into the booth. He watches halfway amused, though he shows no outward signs of it. After I situate myself, smooth out my shirt, and fold my hands on the tabletop, I give him a look that I'll be okay. The left side of his mouth curls up, and his eyes return to the pile of ketchup.

"Rough night?" I guess, feeling myself blink rapidly to focus.

"You too, I'd say," he responds.

I smile and watch as he drags a single fry around the pool of ketchup and makes a rather interesting design with the negative space. "Is that a castle?" I speculate about the sketch.

"Close. It's a dragon."

I think about that. "How is that close?"

He shrugs. "Dragons can guard castles sometimes."

"Only enchanted ones."

"That's why I said sometimes."

I turn back to look for Bebe, but either I can't see that far back, or she isn't in our booth anymore. Frowning, I turn back to Kyle. "Do you come here often?"

He sighs, drops the fry, and leans back into the booth. "I don't want to talk about it."

Bebe was right. This was somewhere he and Stan went to get away. "Yeah, I know what you mean. There are way too many places that remind me of Stan. If I avoided them all, I'd never go anywhere except my own house." I blink again. He looks up.

"Why _are_ you here?"

"Same reason you are," I say.

"I highly doubt that."

"Kyle, its okay. You can talk to me. I'm actually a pretty good listener."

"I can't talk to you about this, Wendy."

"Actually…I think you can. This booze makes me numb to anything, so you could talk about Stan and you and I don't think it'd sink in," I respond honestly. I meant it as somewhat of a joke, though I can't deny its truth.

Kyle eyes me curiously. "You're drunk?" I shrug and purse my lips, and he "ah"s me. Shaking his head, he rests his cheek on his knuckle. "It still wouldn't feel right."

"It's okay to feel sad," I respond dumbly.

"Sad?!" he repeats incredulously. "I'm not sad."

"Liar."

"Sad is how you feel when your pet dies," he continues, occasionally stabbing his dragon design with another fry.

"Oookay, an understatement then." I massage my temple in a last attempt to focus on the conversation, but I'm afraid that ship has sailed a long time ago. "Kyle, Bebe brought me here to show me how miserable you are." Oops, that didn't come out right.

Sure enough, he glares at me. "Does it make you feel better now?"

"No."

He sighs. "Wendy, if you've come to tell me I got what I deserved, there's no need to. I already feel like shit for ever betraying you like that."

"…"

He drops his hand and sits up again. "I know how awful it must've felt to find out about us. I know that you probably hate me for doing this to you. I hate myself for doing this to you." He lowers his volume and mutters, "especially with an asshole that never really loved me."

I feel myself instantly sober up. I hadn't expected such a swift and heartfelt apology from him, though I'm not really sure _what_ I was expecting. Certainly not this. Maybe Bebe's right.

"I knew he was cheating on you the whole time and yet I did nothing. I kept cheating with him because I thought…I thought that he was just in the dark about his feelings and he didn't want to hurt you…" he continues, more for himself than for me. "Now I realize he never intended on telling you. He just thought he could have me on the side."

"You weren't on the side, Kyle," I correct, and he looks up from his realization. "I can't believe I didn't put two and two together sooner. He was just using me as a cover-up. He was using me so that you two could stay hidden." The words I'm saying hurt so badly to say, but feel so revitalizing to share.

"Yeah, stay hidden." He slams his fist onto the table. "That fucker never _wanted_ to come out. He had no intention to."

This is soooo weird, talking about Stan in this way. Especially to the guy he was that way with. Still, I find myself wanting to know more about them. And even odder than that, I find myself wanting to reassure Kyle about their relationship. "Stan was in love with you."

"Yeah," he snorts. "Right. Just like he was with you, huh?"

Ouch.

"I've never seen him smile at me the way he did at you, Kyle. There was something there."

"No SHIT there was!" I can see the anger inside of him rise, causing his ears to turn the color of his hair. "But he chose to ignore it. He chose to HIDE it."

"I'm…I'm sorry."

He stares at me, unblinking. Finally, he closes his eyes. "I'm sorry, Wendy. You don't want to hear this, and I sure as hell shouldn't be TELLING you about us." He grabs his fork with force. "I shouldn't even be talking about the douche bag."

"And I shouldn't be talking to you at all, but here I am."

"Yeah, here you are. Where's Bebe, anyway?"

I swivel my head around so fast, I fear I've given myself whiplash. "She's really not there?" I ask aloud, clarifying my earlier doubt of whether I just could see that far or not.

"Not where? I don't see her anywhere."

I scan the restaurant for any sign of blonde frizz. Without saying another word, I stand up and make my way to the booth, noting that her purse is gone and there is a tip on the table. I look back to Kyle, who looks to me as I meander through the place and disappear into the restrooms. Moments later, I reappear, having yet to spot her. It's only then that I run over to the long, narrow window and peer out. Her car is gone.

Her car is gone, and she was my ride home. What the hell was she trying to do? She was serious about teaming Kyle and me up!

Kyle is more on edge than when I left the booth, and as I plop back down into the opposite side, he stares at me, awaiting my response.

"Well?" he prods.

"She…left me here."

"You're KIDDING!"

I give him a look to show him that I am not joking. "She was talking about us conspiring against Stan and how we'd make a great team and all that, but I didn't think she was _THIS_ seri-"

"Whoa whoa wait," Kyle interrupts, his hands going up in a STOP fashion. "She left you here with me to what?"

I'm in a daze. I can't believe she would DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT! Friends don't ditch you like that. Not even Bebe, my most illogically ditzy friend.

"Wendy, what'd she tell you to do?"

"How am I supposed to drive home when I don't have a car here? Not to mention I'm seeing two of you right now…"

"Nevermind that, Wends, I'll drop you off. What is Bebe talking about?"

"You're going to drive me home?" I ask, unsure that I heard him right.

"Yeah, that's not a problem. Now, what's this about conspiring?"

Resigning the idea that Bebe's going to come back, I settle back down into the booth. "She said something about how you and I could expose him for the fraud he is."

"You mean out him to the school ourselves?" His mood has gone from melancholy to ecstatic in less than a minute.

"Yeah something like that. She was saying how we have all the information, if we unite fronts, we're unstoppable."

"Because we're the girlfriend and the 'best friend'?"

"Yeah…" I respond hesitantly. "You aren't actually considering this, are you?"

"What's to consider?! He doesn't deserve our silence." His eyes are practically glowing with excitement.

"He doesn't deserve our betrayal either!" I cry out. Though I can't explain why I feel this way.

He huffs. "Did you fall and hit your head in the bathroom? Stan and betrayal go hand in hand."

I find myself wanting to scold Kyle for his immaturity. "Kyle, you're a better person than that. We're both better people than that. We don't need to sink down to his level to feel good about ourselves. Besides, what good is it going to accomplish? It won't bring either of us the relationship we want."

The gleam in his emerald eyes dies down. "Yeah, but we could make him feel as shitty as we do."

I laugh awkwardly, noticing my buzz has mysteriously vanished during this conversation. Now I'm just tired. "It feels really strange saying this…but I know you enough to know you wouldn't place revenge above loyalty. You're too good of a person, Kyle Broflovski," I admit with a weak smile. He returns the sentiment and I watch as his shoulders begin to drop back into their previous position.

After a moment of silence, he stares at his plate of ketchup. "These fries are sick. Let's get out of here."

I agree silently, and I wait patiently as he asks and pays for the bill. We exit the diner into the brisk autumn night, and I shiver instantly. To my surprise, I feel a strong, warm arm around my shoulders as he escorts me to his car. I remain frozen in the spot he deposited me until he reaches the driver's side door and opens it. "Get in! You look like you're having a seizure."

I smile gratefully and enter the warm(er) confines of his green Mazda. Kyle pops in his mp3 player into the designated slot and turns the ignition, revving the engine and blasting the heat for me. "You like angry heavy metal, don't you?"

I cringe but force a smile on my face and nod.

He laughs. "Didn't think so." He switches the player to a soft rock melody that I don't recognize, and we peel out of the parking lot.

Minutes later, he pulls right up into my driveway. I didn't even have to give him directions. I almost question how he knows, but then I figure, it's South Park. It's a small town, and everyone knows where everyone else lives. That, or he memorized it for when Stan was over here like what I did when Stan was over there.

As the car comes to a complete stop, he shifts into park and I listen as the engine dies down to a steady hum. I feel like he has more to say for some reason, but I am unsure of how to instigate it. Maybe if I sit silently long enough, he'll speak up. I nervously toy with the fabric of my jacket and feel my palms start to sweat, as if I'm waiting for a goodnight kiss on the first date. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear he's thinking the same thing.

"Wendy, I don't have a lot of friends anymore," he finally speaks. His voice is shaky and I can tell it was hard for him to admit that.

I don't really know what to say to it either. "Oh?" is the best I can think of.

"Yeah," he continues, his eyes glued to my garage door ahead of him. "Ever since I…" he swallows. "…Ever since this _thing_, I didn't really give any free time to anyone. I spent most of the day with Stan."

"I know," I agree, quietly. I don't want him to feel like I'm angry with him for that, though I do resent him a little.

"What I'm trying to say is…" he looks down at his hands. "It means a lot to me that you even talked to me tonight. I mean, considering the situation…" his eyes turn to mine, "you'd be the last person I'd expect to reach out."

"Yeah, I thought that too," I admit. The light from our porch shines directly onto his face, illuminating his handsome features. He has really beautifully striking eyes that seem so sorrowful, and my heart hurts to even look into them. "I _was_ kind of bitter about what happened."

"Understandable," he reasons.

"But…but I always thought you and I had so much in common. I knew the only reason we never clicked was because of Stan. And now that Stan is out of the picture…there's nothing there to stand in our way."

He eyes me suspiciously and I'm unable to look away. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…I…I forgive you." I choke that out, mostly because I'm afraid he'll get defensive and claim he didn't need my forgiveness to begin with. He never asked for it, after all. Still, it feels healthy and refreshing to say it and mean it. I hadn't realized how merciless I had been.

"You do?" His voice is like an innocent child.

"Yeah. And," I look away, "I know that you didn't ask me for it, but-"

"No Wendy…that means…that means so much to me." He places his hand on my knee and squeezes. "I know I can't take back what I did. Just knowing you can forgive me for that makes this process a lot easier."

I smile warmly. His gratitude and sincerity makes it easy for me to understand why Stan would like him so much. Stan always seemed so appreciative of that kind of honesty and blind trust. How ironically bittersweet that he couldn't return it. "I'm glad," I respond, unbuckling my seat belt. "Goodnight, Kyle."

"Goodnight Wendy."

He removes his hand and I open the passenger door, preparing myself to stand up when he adds, "Maybe we can help each other out, you know? We both know what the other's going through."

"Maybe," I say, and get out of the car. As I walk up to my front door, I wave to him. He waves back and continues to sit in my driveway until I'm safely inside. I lock the deadbolt and watch through the thick glass as he pulls away and heads off down the road. I tip toe my way to my room and shut the door, trying my best not to wake mom and dad. Its late enough I think they're probably in bed, but I don't want to see if they are or not.

What an unexpected turn of events. Bebe, the crazy bitch that she has, actually has decent motives in her twisted brain sometimes, and while it was an evil plot, something good came of it. I feel a peaceful serenity as I change into my nightclothes and crawl into bed, falling asleep faster and more deeply than since before I can remember.

---

"So glad to see you're alive and well, sweetie!" Bebe announces as she bounces toward my locker in her typical bubbly morning mood.

I turn to face her and narrow my eyes. Even though the result of her doings last night were positive, it was still a shady thing for her to try. "Don't talk to me until you've apologized for what you did."

She frowns only momentarily before smiling widely. "Wendy, you know I did it for your own good."

"You LEFT ME FOR THE BIRDS!" I cry in true drama queen fashion.

"Nonsense, Kyle's a decent guy. He wouldn't have left you there to rot." She pauses with fright. "…He _didn't_ leave you there, did he?"

"No, _some_ people are good enough to NOT ditch their friends," I growl.

"OOOH!" she squeals. "You guys are friends??! SO IT WORKED!"

"Not so fast, matchmaker. We are not friends."

"Did you kill him?" she asks seriously. He looks around the hallway. "Come to think of it, I _haven't_ seen him yet."

"No, I didn't kill him."

"Good. Because that resent should be reserved for Stan," she says brightly. "Sooo…did you take my advice?"

I collect my last needed textbook, shut my locker, and begin to walk away from her. "He was all for it."

She squeals yet again, skipping to keep up with me. "REALLY?!?! So when do I get to witness the big show?"

I stop and turn towards her. "Never. We can't do that now or ever, Bebe. It's not right." I start to walk again.

"Huh? But you said he was all for it!"

"He was."

"Then…!" I almost laugh at the confusion in her voice, but I try my best to seem pissed. Truth is, I'm happy she left me there, though I want her to feel guilty for doing it.

"I gotta get to class."

She sighs, unsatisfied that she won't get the rest of the story from me. "Fine. See you at lunch then?"

"I'm sitting with Kyle," I call back to her, already three paces ahead of her.

"OOOOH SO IT DID WORK!" I hear from behind me.

---

I considered myself unlucky when our schedules switched for the next nine weeks and both Kyle and Stan were placed in my lunch. Now, I think it's just plain brilliant. Before school, and even before Bebe showed her constantly happy face, I met up with Kyle and we agreed to eat together. We both figured it would be an 'in-your-face' move to Stan, as well as a positive step toward our growing relationship.

So it's not a shock to me when I enter the cafeteria, and immediately spot Kyle, waving me over. Almost equally as sudden, I see Stan, and I try my best to avoid eye contact as I make my way to Kyle's table. He smiles upon my arrival, and I drop a few books and my can of juice beside him. "Be right back," I tell him, and I jog over to get in line. I know Stan sees all of this, and I watch him sit down next to some football buddies out of the corner of my eye.

"Sorry I'm late," I apologize to Kyle after I get back. I take the seat across from him and spread my napkin across my lap. Why I do that in a school cafeteria, I don't know.

He laughs. "You must think we're in some fancy first class restaurant."

"Shut up, I do not. I'm just proper," I reply, defensively.

"Did he see you?" he asks, and I know why he asked it.

"Of course."

"Do you think he's nervous about it?"

"I can't imagine he wouldn't be. This is not normal." This conversation between Kyle and me is weird. You'd think we've been friends forever the way we just banter back and forth. It makes me a tad regretful we didn't try the friendship thing earlier. Of course, who knows where we would've ended up if we were friends when he and Stan were fooling around? We'd probably be enemies now.

"Good. I hope he squirms until he confesses," Kyle admits, grinning. We both know it won't happen, but it's still fun to think we're making that big of an impact on the jerk.

"Can't say I saw it coming either. Why am I here again?" I tease, hoping Kyle is light hearted enough to know I'm only joking.

"Because I trapped you into thinking I'm a good person," he replies without missing a beat.

"You sure fooled me."

He chuckles and takes a sip of his milk. He eyes me as I take a sip of my juice. "You sure that's just juice in there?" I start to respond, but he beats me to it. "You're not carrying some rubbing alcohol to mix with it, are you?"

"Ha ha very funny."

Kyle's attention turns away from me for just a split second before turning back. He tries to make it unnoticeable, but I know exactly what he's doing.

"Is he looking over here?" I ask.

"Yeah," he answers in a sigh. "You know what would be really fucked up?"

"If he came over here right now?"

"Heh," he laughs uncomfortably. "If we pretended we were going out."

I snort. "Yeah that'd be _really_ fucked up." I take a sip of juice as his eyes seem to contemplate it. "It wouldn't work," I answer his thoughts for him.

"Why not?"

"I don't have a penis."

"I…" He looks thoroughly flabbergasted, and I bust out laughing. "Good point," he concludes, finally.

This brings us to the point in the conversation where I want to ask more to understand him better, but I have trouble finding the words to ask. I instead watch him eat his meal like a predator waiting for her prey to enjoy one last feast before pouncing. He senses this and pauses mid-bite to ask, "what?"

"How…uh, how did you know?"

He shrugs and takes another bite. "I think I knew when Stan offered to give me his kidney back when I was eight."

My mouth drops open and I see no reason to close it. "You've felt this way for _ten years_?"

He nods. "I admitted it to myself when I started going to his football games and I actually watched the game."

"And by the game, you mean Stan," I venture, knowing full well how incredible he looks in that uniform.

"Of course." He takes another bite and swallows. "Why don't I feel weird about telling you this stuff?"

"Why don't I freak out over you telling me this stuff?" I counter ask, unable to answer his question. He shrugs, and I take my own bite.

"Maybe we're both lost causes."

"Maybe," I agree. "Hey Kyle? Do your parents know?"

His tone drastically changes. "We were planning on telling them together…you know, when that time came."

"Do you think they'll care?"

"Doubt it. Mom'll be irreconcilable for a few days until she realizes having a gay son means she'll have more causes to fight for. I think she'll be supportive." He says this with a lot of uncertainty in his voice, but at the same time, I think he believes it to be true. I don't see much of Sheila anymore, but I remember her to be the meddlesome over-involved mother type. He's probably right.

"Are you still planning on telling them?"

"I have no idea," he confesses. "I almost want to just to get back at Stan, but I know that's completely preposterous. Besides, me being gay won't prove anything about Stan's feelings."

I look into Kyle's eyes again and search for anything that will indicate his true feelings to the whole Stan situation. Of course I know he's hurting, but part of me believes he's not ready to part with him yet. I reached that point the minute I saw how much Kyle really means to Stan, and I feel better off because of it. Not that getting drunk on a school night and agreeing to go with Bebe to a sketchy establishment is better off, but I feel like I'm on the mend. I think I finally realize that it's over between him and I, and I can begin the process of healing. And then maybe someday, I can forgive him too.

Kyle, however, is not at that point. I see that spark in him that tells me he's not ready to give it up yet. He's clearly at his wit's end with it all, wanting nothing more to do with Stan outwardly. Inwardly, I know he wants that love back. I can see it in his gestures, his eyes, and every miniscule glance he steals in Stan's direction.

"You still want him, don't you?" I blurt out from my inner thoughts. Immediately, I wish I hadn't. I don't want to anger him.

He stops chewing and his shoulders drop. He's avoiding eye contact and not saying a word. I think I know the answer.

"If he came out today, would you get back together with him?" I inquire, making up some pretend scenario for the sake of conversation. From the corner of the room, I see Bebe give me the thumbs up from our normal table, and I nod to acknowledge her, waiting for Kyle's response. He looks like such a saddened little boy, it breaks my heart.

"No," he replies definitively. "He's going to have to do a lot more than that now."

"But it's still possible? You could still be with him after all of this?"

He sighs. "I don't want to feel this way, but like you said, everything reminds me of him. It's impossible to get over him when he's just…sitting right over there, within arms' reach." This time his glance at Stan lasts longer than a millisecond. Matter of fact, its not a glance anymore as much as a yearning gaze. I turn my head to see that Stan is gawking right back at him, with that same look of desire.

"You need to get out of here!" I tell him, slamming my hand on the table to divert his attention back to us. "You won't last another minute if you don't."

"You mean like out of this room?"

"Like out of this school!" I suggest powerfully.

He stares at me inquisitively, saying, "hmm." He purses his lips. "You know, that's not such a bad idea."

"Yeah, fake an illness, do what you need to do, get out of here for a few days."

"Actually I was thinking more along the lines of transferring schools."

"_**What?!"**_ I spit out my juice back into its can and up over the side brim. I huddle around the table, cradling my tray as though my food is going to be stolen at any minute and strain my neck to hear him. "Transfer schools?"

"Yeah! That's actually a _great_ idea! Thanks, Wendy!" he praises merrily, but all I can do is sit and absorb the shock.

"Just like that?" I say, snapping my fingers. "You're going to leave all of this behind?"

"All of _what_?" he asks. "I already told you, I barely have any friends here anymore. Besides, my mom's always talked about private schools for Ike, being the genius he is. I'm at the top of our class, it's not like I couldn't get into a private school. I'm sure she'd be thrilled."

"And if she isn't?"

"Then I can tell her I'm gay and I can't be around Stan anymore," he says, as if it'd really be just as easy as that.

"You mean tell her the truth?"

"Yeah, why not? She's so noisy anyway, I'd be surprised if she doesn't already suspect. Or know. Coming out would be a big relief to us both. And a surefire way to get me out of here and into a private institution."

"But it's the middle of your senior year, Kyle. Do you think any school will accept you with so little time left before you graduate?"

"Wendy, I got a 1520 on my SAT. I don't think anyone would turn that down."

I sigh. "You may be right."

He leans over and kisses my cheek. "I'm going to go research this. I'll let you know what I find out." He gathers his tray and dumps it off at the trash station. I watch in admiration and concern as he weaves in and out of the student traffic to the other end of the cafeteria. As soon as he disappears, I shift my focus to Stan's general direction. As expected, his eyes are glued to the door that Kyle just left from. I watch as he stands up instantaneously, heading toward those very doors.

And I watch his advance abruptly halted with a cautionary arm from Bebe. She turns to me and winks before pushing him backwards bit by bit until he throws his hands up and admits defeat. When he concedes and finally sits back down, he glances at me confusedly before pretending to chat with his teammates once again.

I finish eating the last of my food at the same table Kyle was sitting at moments before, taking advantage of the silence. Or rather, the silence of a relevant conversation. The cafeteria can never be silent. A few minutes before I'm ready to leave, Bebe trots over to announce she threatened to expose Stan right then and there should he talk to both Kyle and me, and that he won't be messing with us anytime soon. I smile and give her a high-five, and finally divulge on the information of Kyle and I's sudden bond. She screeches with delight until I tell her he wants to move schools. Then she begins to half-pout half-cry, claiming there will never be a more beautiful man than Kyle in this school.

And while I don't hold him high on a pedestal like she does, I'm beginning to understand what she means. And the pain inside of me from losing Stan is suddenly replaced with the feeling of remorse for never getting to know Kyle before it was too late.


	9. Changes In The Weather

Apparently, when I said updates would be timelier, I meant the complete OPPOSITE of timelier. And now so much time has passed, I'm not really sure if any of you are into this story anymore. But I swore to myself that when things in my life started to look up once again, I'd pick up where I'd left off and guess what? Even if I'm not where I'd hoped to be, I'm realizing the value of being happy once again! So yes, an update is far too overdue. And I apologize.

In addition, this story is taking no direction in what I ever originally thought it would take. I have a few ideas in mind with how it will be done, but nothing concrete anymore. Kind of adventurous that way. Enjoy! And sorry for the delay.

**Chapter 8- Changes In The Weather**

I look outside to find that it is raining. Again. Like every other day this past week, water has fallen from the sky at least once when I could see it. It's too forceful to last forever, however, and I anticipate it will be over with just as soon as it began. These torrential downpours are getting weaker as time goes on. Soon enough, they won't even be worth noting. I turn back my attention to the task on hand.

"So did you find anything?" I inquire as Kyle scrolls down a web page with his mouse. His eyes rove the screen hopefully for another few seconds before his expression changes from concentration to excitement.

"There are three schools near Fort Collins and four in Denver," he states, turning his attention to me.

I briefly glance at the clock before continuing. We have only three minutes left before the second bell rings and we have to leave for the day. Most of the students have gone home already, and personally, I've never stayed until the last bell unless to attend clubs or meetings. But when Kyle came up to me at my locker before last period requesting that I meet him in the library after school, I figured he must've found something significant in his search for a better place, and agreed to come. If nothing else, it would be a great way to get some uninterrupted study time in before I had to face my dramatic life again. And I had just that—up until I noticed it was nearing 4:30 and we'd have to depart shortly. I gathered up my books and joined Kyle by the computer only moments ago.

Blinking, I scan the information he's pulled up on screen. "They're all more than an hour away," I observe, re-hoisting my book bag onto my shoulder.

"Very true," he agrees. He gives a look to let me know that's precisely the point.

I look around and pull out the chair right below me so that we're on the same level. "Kyle, you really need to think this through. Are you willing to leave your hometown only months before the end of your senior year?"

He smiles. "I was planning on leaving after this year anyway. I've already got a scholarship secured for Stanford if I want it."

Stanford? If he wants it? What's not to want! I shake my head. "But you're lined up to be salutatorian here! That means a free ride to virtually any school of your choice!" I remind him. "That won't happen if you go somewhere else the eve of your graduation."

He frowns at me. "Wendy, my grades will do that anyway," he replies, practically boasting. I frown back, realizing that my lackluster performance over the past few months has probably damaged _my_ chance at any scholarships. Schools don't want slackers. I wonder if I'm even valedictorian anymore.

"But you're okay with packing up everything you know and moving into some dormitory with snobby kids?"

"That's rather judgmental of you," he scolds. "And to answer your question, yes. I've been ready to exit the confines of this small town for a long time now. The only thing that's held me back from moving forward has been…" his voice trails off, and for a moment I wonder how much he was willing to sacrifice to be with Stan. Because no matter how gifted Stan is at football, he isn't going to have a chance to play on any Division I college team, much less big time Stanford. And with his grades being what they are, I'd be surprised if he could get anywhere but a state college.

This sudden realization makes me very depressed. Partially because I know how much _I_ had been willing to sacrifice to stay with Stan. I'd rejected the thought of going to any out-of-state school years ago. I never even applied. But another part of me feels sorrow for Kyle. Because he, like me, was probably going to squash those dreams of his to stay here to be near Stan. They'd probably had plans to go the same university in the fall, unbeknownst to me.

"You were going to stay here for him, weren't you," I speculate.

Without him saying so many words, the answer to my question is written all over his face. He drops his chin to his hand, which is resting in front of the keyboard. He scrolls meaninglessly down the page until reaching the end and clicking "next" to do the same thing. He sighs before scrolling down again. Finally, he lifts his head up and exits out of the windows. The vivid photos of various schools and their information are replaced by dull, institutionalized blue wallpaper with our school mascot in the middle.

"I've been a hopeless idiot for far too long," he concludes. "And now its time to get my life back on track." He turns to me, looking me up and down with a gleam in his eye. It disturbs me when people do that. Its like they have a plan but won't fill me in on the details.

My eyes narrow and I look at him suspiciously. "What?"

His lips curl into a faint smile. "It starts today. Right now, in fact."

"…Good?" I ask more than state.

His smile widens. "I'm going to do it."

I feel my eyebrows rise involuntarily. "Do what?"

He nods once as he swivels to snap his book bag shut before standing up and gesturing for me to do the same. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he jogs out of the library just as I hear the last bell sound, and I have no choice but to follow him. They'll be closing up every room now and we are no longer welcome. I echo his footsteps out into the hallway and down the stairs until we've reached the entryway to the drizzly outside. His steps are far too brisk for me to catch up without running, but I don't part ways with him even as we near 'ole Betsy. In fact, I surpass my own car in favor of finding out why he hasn't concluded his thoughts.

It's still raining lightly even though the sun is beginning to peek out. I feel the liquid pelt my exposed face and hands. It disappears beneath the fabric of my heavy wool coat upon contact. I blink away the droplets. "What are you planning?" I try again, practically skipping to keep up. I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid the icy pain of the cold weather.

He stops to face me and I do the same thing. "You want to come along?"

"To do what?" I repeat.

"I'm telling my parents."

"…That you want to change schools?" I ask hesitantly, feeling an uneasiness at how abrupt his recent decisions have been.

He nods. "Sure, that too." When he realizes I'm not responding, he spins on his heel and takes the extra steps to his car. Instantaneously, I follow him.

"You're going to come out to them?" I venture, feeling like his shadow for how close I'm standing as he unlocks his door.

He turns to face me. "Yes. Regardless of their reaction, its something they need to know. And something I want to tell them."

My head is reeling by this newfound knowledge. By his brash decisions. How can he be so blasé about this? It's a pretty huge deal. I'm no psychologist, but I'm pretty sure that Kyle's mom won't be as easy-going when she finds out her son has been lying to his family about who he is for the past ten years. In fact, I think she'll be more pissed at him for that than be happy he's finally decided to confess. If she's like _my_ mother, he'll get blasted for keeping it to himself.

His hand pauses as he holds onto the door and stares into his driver's side window. "I know I'm being impulsive. And I know that I won't get a favorable reaction out of them." Turning to me, he leans in. "But I also know that this one secret I refuse to hold in any longer."

As I stare into his eyes, I know there is no way of changing his mind. I can't believe how I haven't known Kyle for very long but already I'm able to decipher his reactions and gauge his stubbornness. It took me throughout adolescence to figure out Stan, and now I realize that even then I had no idea. And it's not that he was really such a complex person—in fact, he was as simplistic as they come. Maybe I subconsciously didn't _want_ to figure him out. Because I was happy with how things were, and to figure it out would complicate our near-perfect existence.

"There's no way of talking you out of this, is there," I say with a sigh. "Or at least delaying it until you've mulled it over."

He squints his eyes and looks up to the parting clouds and shaded sun. Just as I suspected, the shower is clearing up. I no longer feel the constant drizzle on my cheeks. "I'll be out before sundown tonight," he determines.

I bite my lip and stare past Kyle, past his determination and impetuosity. Past his brave façade and his collectiveness. And I see the heartbroken guy who just wants to make things right once more. I take a deep breath. "Good luck."

He smiles warmly. "Thanks. For everything." And with that, I force a smile on my lips before he kisses my cheek and drops into his Green Mazda. I hear the engine rev only once, and he zooms out of his parking spot like he has a strict agenda.

As I watch him drive out of sight, knowing he's prepared to confront his adversity face-to-face, I'm consistently reminded of how ashamed I've been for the past few months. Kyle is embracing this change as something positive, and as hard as that is for him to do, I admire him for doing so. I feel pangs of envy as the beginnings of another rain shower bites at my neck on my trek back to Betsy. If only it were that easy for me to brush off…

"Wendy?" a familiar voice calls out, and I scan the school grounds until my eyes meet up with its owner.

I stop dead in my tracks. It's Stan. I crease my brows and look side to side before staring at him for an explanation. "What are you _doing_ here?" I ask, mildly annoyed.

He jogs up to me, as I have no intentions of meeting him halfway. He's the last person I want to see, much less talk to.

"We just finished up football practice. Our last game is Friday," he answers back, and I laugh to myself. Any other year and I would've had to remind him that it was his last game. My job in our relationship was his organizer. At the beginning of the year, I took the liberty of writing down all of his games in a schedule book, along with any other important information he needed. He told me that helped him get to the places he had to be on time and on the right day. Now that I look back at it, that was more a motherly job than that of a girlfriend's. I wonder how often he thought the same thing.

Still, it's strange to think that I _didn't_ realize it was his last game. Normally I would be planning a big celebration for just the two of us as some kind of after party. He seemed to appreciate that as well. Perhaps it was all part of the same bullshit act.

"You…didn't know?" He is rather surprised at that fact, as am I.

"Must've slipped my mind," I grumble. Truly football is not one of my priorities right now. "Good luck," I recite monotonously, not at all like the heartfelt wishes I left Kyle with a few minutes ago.

"Thanks," he replies, equally as unenthusiastically. Something is distracting him, and I can guarantee that something has to do with the red head who just drove off. He must've seen us talking. When he doesn't further the conversation, I resume the jog to my car. The air between us is so tense it's strangling me.

He lengthens his strides until we're walking in synch side-by-side. I can see his mouth open and close, as though he's preparing to say something, but I don't give him the time to sum up the courage. After all, he's going to have to do a lot more than show his face to repair the damage between us.

"I think we need to talk," he proposes.

I scoff and continue walking. "_Now_ he wants to talk," I tell our air audience.

"That's not fair," he begins. "I was going to tell you, I promise."

"Don't waste a promise on a lie, Stan," I advise, fishing around for my keys in my coat pocket. The rain is increasing in strength, and the sunlight has been replaced by shadow. I don't want it to start pouring buckets when I'm only a few feet away from my car.

"I really think we should-"

"I should be at home," I tell him hastily, not slowing down.

"But not before you-"

"Mom will be wondering where I'm at…"

"Don't you care about-"

"I didn't call her to let her know I'd be late…"

"Wends will you just stop talking for a second?" he shouts, grabbing my arm and planting his feet into the ground. I can tell he's exasperated, but he has no idea how infuriated I am right now.

I roll my eyes and sigh, turning to face him. "What do you want Stan." I just heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

"I want to talk to you!" he replies helplessly.

"There's nothing to left to SAY, Stan."

His shoulders drop and he looks at my shoes. "I owe you an apology."

"Damn right you do," I agree, yanking my arm back into my own grasp. "But there's no need. You're only realizing this after you've lost the person you really care about. I have a feeling you wouldn't even be here if Kyle still wanted you."

"That's not true."

"Yeah, Stan, it is. You had ample time to "apologize", to confess, to do whatever it is you do when you're cheating on your girlfriend, who you supposedly love. Apparently you had a fucking _year_. You're only feeling sorry for yourself, and you think that by saying sorry to me, you're making amends. But it doesn't work that way. So there's no need to apologize to me for what you did. I don't need your pity," I explain through clenched teeth.

The look on his face is priceless, and if it weren't for this searing pain in my stomach right now, I might bust a gut from laughing too hard. He knows I hit the nail on the head, and he's feeling even more sorry for himself because after all these years, I've finally figured him out.

"Wendy," he regroups after a long pause.

"Save your breath, Stan. I'm not interested anymore." Looking up to the sky, I add, "it looks like its going to storm, and I want to head home before it hits." I pull out my keys and sift through the chain until finding the proper key to unlock the door. With my back facing him, I successfully maneuver the lock until it jiggles the door open.

"How's Kyle," I hear him whisper behind me.

I swing my door open angrily, pause to recollect myself, inhale deeply, and exhale slowly. Gradually, I spin around on my heels to discover that Stan is now standing six inches in front of me.

"Kyle," I growl, "is fine. He's much better now that he's done with you."

Stan swallows this information hard, searching both of my eyes for kinder, more compassionate words. But there are none. And as he slowly begins to nod, I see his jaw tighten. "Nice talking with you, Wendy." And like that, he backs off, walking the opposite direction in which he came from with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his varsity jacket. The jacket he promised me I'd get to wear our senior year. .

The nerve of him! Imagine, asking ME how Kyle is doing! Me! Okay, so he obviously knows Kyle and I are talking, but doesn't he realize how inconsiderate it is to ask me that question? I know he's hurting, and I know he's starting to show his true colors, but he should still be able to censor his feelings for me. Just a little bit. He's been doing it for _this _long; I don't see why he can't for any longer. Besides, Kyle isn't even a viable option anymore. Why is he even pretending to care? He has a reputation to withhold. One that doesn't include his true feelings.

Dropping to my seat in a huff, I stare out the windshield angrily. The thunder has traveled closer, and I see a bold of lightning out of the corner of my eye. I strap myself in and just feel myself fume. Just because I know Stan doesn't care about me the way I thought he did doesn't mean I need to constantly be reminded of that fact. And if Kyle leaves, will he try to cover up everything as a fluke decision? He better not try to butter me up again, cause I'm not falling for it. My Stan era is over. I have no desire to talk to him anymore. I hope he stays away from here on out.

With my mind on the betrayal and my heart in overdrive, I peel out of my parking space and cruise a cool 60mph out of the school zone and back into the countryside. By the time I hit the home stretch, my blood is about to boil over. Recklessly I swerve my wheel to the right, turning sharply into the housing development that surrounds my home. I'm seething with fury, and I quickly wipe away any trace of tears that might have slipped out on the short ride home.

Why he still gets to me, I don't know. I don't know how I have any feeling left in me at all.

The rain coats the blacktop, making it appear slippery. But the precipitation has started to lift once again, and the signs of evening are taking over. I release my gas pedal and coast to a slower speed as I round the corner and spot my quaint little ranch-style home. Upon closer inspection of my driveway, I notice there is already a car occupying my usual space. And the closer I get, the more I realize that it is, in fact, a little green Mazda with its engine still running. I pull up directly to the right of it, shifting into park and peering out the window to the occupant. Kyle's hands are braced on the wheel—his eyes remain focused on my garage. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was about to drive right up on my front porch.

I sigh and turn off the ignition, unfastening my seat belt and gathering the books that have fallen out of my book bag before exiting my car. As I pass Kyle's bleak expression, I bend down and knock on the glass. With a lowered chin, he looks up at me hopelessly. Oh no, what happened? Did he see Stan too?

Tapping on the glass again, I gesture at him to come with me inside the house. Instead he shakes his head, but pleads for my company with the greenest eyes I have ever known anyone to have. I have no choice but to get in the car with him.

"What's wrong?" I ask him curiously once safely inside.

He drops his head back to the middle and stares into his steering wheel. "I can't do it," he whispers.

To this, I chuckle. I'm not sure why…maybe because Stan is usually the drama queen, making everything out to be such a big deal. I wouldn't peg Kyle as the same way. Granted this _is_ a pretty big deal…

Of course he looks at me, mildly insulted by my actions. He gives me the "how-dare-you-laugh" look before I feel myself speaking. "Sorry, Kyle. But you were so determined beforehand. What changed your mind?"

He shrugs. "Nothing, really. I just kept thinking about how to do this, tried to talk myself into it, and ended up here."

I stifle a laugh. "Well that's a first. I guess I should be honored?"

I look over just in time to see him crack a grin. "Sure." But the amusement doesn't last long. "Wendy, you must think I'm coming on pretty strong."

I frown, confused by his assumption. "You're coming onto me? Wow, I don't want to knock your methods, but-"

"Wendy," he sighs with a smile.

"-But I don't think telling me you like guys is a great way to win me over, you know?" I finish.

"Wendy that's not what I meant and you know it!" he replies animatedly before sighing once again. "I just…its really hard for me to comprehend what's been going on. Here we are, supposed enemies pitted against each other because of a desired common goal, and now I'm reaching out to you like we've been childhood best friends, complete with the bracelet and all."

"So I've noticed," I mention quietly. He won't look me in the eye, but I can tell he is ashamed to be here. What I can't explain is how and _why_ this doesn't feel weird! He's so right, we should be furious with each other! But maybe I have a bit of a soft spot for him right now. Maybe because I can sympathize with his plight.

"It makes me feel even more like shit," he continues, talking mainly to the steering wheel. His upper body is so stooped over he looks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame without the hunchback.

"Kyle," I say with affection, placing my hand on his back. Man these boys are fragile! Who knew? "Don't say that. And don't worry about where we've come from. What matters right now is where we're going." Whoa, who am I and what have I done with that pessimistic bitterness I've grown to accept?

"And where are we going?"

I study his features a few moments longer. Bebe's right. Kyle really is quite the attractive guy. His emerald eyes sparkle even when there is no light, and his hair is the richest shade of auburn. He shouldn't be moping about like this—it makes us both look pathetic. And it probably makes Stan feel like he's a king. No, Stan cannot conquer us. I won't LET him. I won't let that bastard control either one of us any longer.

Decidedly, I pull the seat belt over my chest and securely strap it. Kyle looks at me, still awaiting an answer.

"We are going to tell your parents who you really are," I reply, adjusting the seat so that it fits my comfort. "If we only have until sundown, then I'd say we best get a move on."

"You're coming too?" he asks, his mood brightened considerably.

We lock eyes for a moment and that is enough for him to register my answer. Still, I feel the need to elaborate. "Do you honestly want to do this on your own?"

"No," he shoots back immediately. "I wanted to do it with Stan."

Ouch. That sets me back, but only momentarily. "Well, his ex girlfriend will have to do."

---

Okay, let's back up for a minute here. If someone would've told me a few days ago that I'd be standing the middle of Kyle Broflovski's living room for support after I had broken it off with Stan because I had seen Stan and Kyle together in Stan's living room, I'd tell that person to lay off the crack. Because its obvious they had been snorting some.

But I guess things change. People change. Feelings change. Life changes. I can't predict what's going to happen next week, hell, I can't even predict what will happen within the next few minutes. I don't for a minute believe Kyle will get off scot-free, but I don't think it will be as big of a deal as it would be if he told his mom he was going to shave off his Jew-fro. As long as he's not blaspheming or creating civil unrest, Sheila will be more supportive than he thinks. It's not like he's telling her anything that's going to damage his faith or culture.

I bite my lip and turn my attention to their elaborate fireplace. The mantle is lined with family photos, memorabilia, and ancient artifacts. Walking over to the display, I trace the outline of the mantle with my index finger as I hear Kyle mumble something in the background. His mother isn't home yet, and we're waiting for everyone to be present before he makes his big announcement.

My finger stops in front of a particular picture that catches my eye. Nestled between an antique copy of the Torah and a terra cotta vase is a framed snapshot. I scan the rest of the pictures and note that they only include immediate family members. There is not a single other person delegated for this location—no one else is allowed to have their picture amongst this superior collection. But this snapshot, this…abomination…it doesn't quite follow the rules. It is a picture of Kyle smiling at the camera as Stan grins widely at him. I blink and refocus solely on the image, ignoring its inappropriate setting. Stan is not just smiling at Kyle…he's smiling _because_ of Kyle. There's affection in his eye that I can't even begin to describe, not even if someone gave me some pen and paper and a 2000 word limit. Kyle's arm is snaked around Stan's backside, and his hand is gripping his shoulder. Stan's hand can barely be seen as it hugs Kyle's side, underneath his arm. The picture is taken by Stan's other hand, as his arm increases in size until it extends outside of the picture plane.

I clamp my jaw shut before my shock becomes evident, but continue to stare at that snapshot. I can't get over the fact that it doesn't fit among the school pictures and formal department store photographs of posed Broflovski's smiling cheesily. It's taken in Stan's bedroom, which I recognize immediately. And it's a crappy image quality. I can't make out much detail except for their faces.

Something else causes me to twitch. Stan has after-sex hair. That's not an assumption—I've seen him many _many_ times before like that, it isn't something that goes unnoticed. He's so meticulous with his styling that it matters if one hair is out of place. But in this particular photo, it looks like someone rubbed a balloon all over and then ran their hand back and forth as hard as they could. He doesn't get hair like that unless he's been messing around.

I feel my stomach drop. No way. Kyle does _not_ have enough balls to put a fucking AFTER SEX picture of he and Stan on his family's most prized possessions throne! He can't even bring himself to tell his parents about them! Unless…unless this all some big ploy to gain my trust…

"Kyle," I call out, turning around and emphasizing the urgency in my voice.

He's sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. "Yeah?" he asks after an exasperated sigh.

Yanking the photo out of its home, I bring the frame over to his view. "Tell me about this picture."

He glances at it for a few seconds, absorbing every detail and pretending to not recognize it, as if he's never seen it before. But who else would put it up there? Finally, he puts his hands back up, pulling on his cheeks. "I'd rather not," is his simple answer.

I inhale deeply, collect my thoughts and my rising anger, and take a seat next to him. He shifts his position only briefly, but I can tell he's tensed up. "I implore you to reconsider," I advise.

Dropping his hands into his lap, he looks at me. "Do you really want to me to tell you about something you probably already know?"

I stare into the picture. "Yes. What's its significance?"

He snorts. "Its not important anymore."

Patience, Wendy, patience. Kyle is your newfound friend. He's not trying to keep secrets from you. He's right, you already know why it's important, why are you prying?

"But it used to be. Why?" I find myself asking. I turn my head to Kyle, taking in every awkward sigh and motion he makes with his eyes, lips, and hands. He's thoroughly uncomfortable with talking about this. And yet I can't turn away from the topic. What's wrong with me? My quest for finding the truth is over! I can stop trying to catch them!

"Because it was important to Stan and me," he grumbles, now refusing to look at me.

I flick it with my thumb and middle finger. "It's just a random snapshot in his room."

He turns to me and glares. "Wendy you know that's not all it is and we're finished having this conversation."

His tone of finality stuns me, and I feel the need to press on further. Slowly nodding once, I purse my lips and study the picture again. "When was your first time together?"

"Let's _not_ talk about that, okay?" he begs threateningly through gritted teeth.

"I think I have a right to know!"

"It's between him and me. It's our personal business," he retorts lowly. I can tell he's getting pissed at me, but perhaps this discussion will take his mind off of what he needs to do, and he'll just be able to go in without a second thought. I'm not purposefully trying to anger him. Part of me is truthfully curious. If they were together for a year, I'm sure they didn't wait until the last few times I knew about.

"And I was his loyal _girlfriend_ at the time. I have a right to know when my boyfriend started fucking around behind my back!" I bite back.

He growls in aggravation, but it's not an animalistic growl. It's the kind someone gives when they're frustrated and showing signs of giving up. I watch his shoulders sag and his eyes concentrate on the ground four feet in front of us. He takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly. "You may be okay with talking about this with me, but I'm not." His eyes lift slightly up and toward me. I know he can see me out of his peripherals. "I was the one he cheated on you with, and I have to live with that for the rest of my life. So whether we slept together a week after I found out how he felt, or a year, it doesn't matter. I consented every time, Wendy. I could've stopped him…I could've told you, but I didn't." Finally he looks directly at me. "And if I were you, I wouldn't be able to sit here and listen to me talk about how your boyfriend was fucking me when you thought he loved you."

When he puts it that way…

"Kyle, is that true?"

We both spin around violently to the sound of the third party voice. Ike is standing in the corner, petrified. I hear Kyle curse quietly before standing up and attempting to rectify the situation. He tries desperately to calm his brother down and then coaxes him into not telling their parents until Kyle is ready to do so. I remain seated, absorbing the scene before me, but mostly absorbing what he just said. I know I should have forgiveness in my heart, and I know he's truly sorry for what he did, but that's low. Horribly, horribly low. Why am I even here? I barely know Kyle, and I'm here to be a shoulder for him to lean on as he tells his parents he's gay and he's in love with Stan. Why oh WHY do I put myself in these situations?!

"Mother!" is the next word I hear, and I realize that Sheila must be home and Ike is now upstairs while Kyle helps with the bags of groceries in the car. My presence goes unseen for a few minutes as Sheila unloads and Gerald comes to help put the items away. I begin to feel the very definition of awkward and decide it's probably best to take my leave, but then quickly scold myself for letting Kyle drive me here. That means he has to drive me back no matter what.

"Mother please sit down," Kyle instructs. "You too, dad."

I sneak back over to the couch so I can have a place to sit while Kyle does his thing. Literally a second later, his face appears from the kitchen and he yanks me by the arm back into it. "I've asked Wendy to come over tonight," he explains as I take a hesitant seat next to Sheila, who's eyeing me suspiciously but saying nothing.

"I've asked her to come over tonight because," he says again, "because I have something important to tell you."

My foot falls off the rung of the stool I'm sitting in and as I go down to adjust the slippery cushion, I realize I'm still holding that damn framed picture. Not sure what to do with it, I reach behind me and place it on a shelf of the island we're surrounding. It makes a quiet clinking noise, but all attention is focused on Kyle and his announcement. Except for the occasional glance my way as if to ask, "what are you doing here",

"Kyle, make this quick, I've got to prepare a meal if we're going to have an unannounced guest," Sheila speaks up, and I cower at her words. She doesn't want me here, this much I can tell.

He sighs noticeably and looks at me before continuing. "I don't normally call you into the kitchen and ask you to sit down if it's not out of the ordinary." He looks at me again.

Suddenly, Sheila's eyes go wide. "Oh dear, are you two dating now?" Kyle looks to her in panic, and I look at her surprised. She turns to Kyle supportively. "Is that why I haven't seen Stan around here? I was so used to him being here every day…"

My eyes narrow at that fact, but I keep quiet. Kyle laughs out of frustration. "No mother…no. You haven't seen Stan lately because he and I…we're not friends anymore."

She turns to me to give me a disapproving look. "Sweetie, why would you feel the need to come between two best friends? It isn't worth breaking up a strong relationship…"

"NO mother!" Kyle screams. "She didn't come between us. _I_ came between _them_!"

She blinks at this new information. Gerald looks on, uninterested. "Why did you do that, Buhbie?"

Kyle braces himself on the island in front of us, and when he lifts his hands up, there are sweaty palm prints from where he just was. He hunches over his body as he breathes deeply one last time, I imagine to collect his thoughts. Finally, he lifts his head and tries again.

"Because I'm gay," he states clearly.

Looking over at the Broflovski's, it's hard to measure their reaction. On one hand, Gerald is now gaping at his son, but he is expressionless except for his flabbergasted unblinking eyes. Sheila, on the other hand, appears transfixed. She's staring through Kyle yet looking directly into his eyes. She looks like she's tackling long division in her head without a place to write it down, and she I cannot hear her breathing. Which could be a good thing. At least she's not hyperventilating.

My eyes travel back and forth from Gerald to Sheila for any sign of life for several moments after Kyle's confession, but there are no words uttered. Turning to Kyle, I see he's awaiting something similar, and he's growing increasingly nervous every second there's no response.

"I don't want to hide anymore," he tells them quietly, hoping to break the stillness.

"Are you sure about this, son?" Gerald asks dumbly.

Kyle stares at him blankly. "Uh…yeah dad. Pretty sure."

Sheila blinks and forces a smile. No wait, that's a genuine smile. It's a compassionate smile!

"Kyle, why would you feel you need to hide at all?" she expresses, and I feel my jaw literally drop. Get out, Sheila is being comforting? That's crazy! "We're your family. We love and support you no matter what."

Just looking at Kyle, I can tell that single statement lifted a thousand pounds off of his shoulders. "Really?" he replies, hopeful. "I don't want you to be ashamed of me…it's not something I chose for myself."

Sheila shakes her head. "Nonsense, Kyle," she says, standing up and walking over to him. She captures him in an embrace to which Kyle hugs back. "There's nothing to be ashamed of." She pulls away and looks up at him. "Perhaps just a few adjustments will need to be made. For all of us."

"Definitely," Kyle agrees, more and more relieved by the second.

"And a little bit of explanation?" Sheila continues.

"O-of course," he replies uncertainly.

"You can start by explaining why Stan's ex girlfriend was here for this."

---

"I think that went well."

Kyle lifts his head from it's newly appointed home, the steering wheel, to glare daggers at me. "And I think you need to lay off the crack. She hates me."

"Kyle she doesn't hate you!"

"She hates me for what I did to you."

"She doesn't hate you," I say again.

"Yeah, you're right. She just thinks I'm a good-for-nothing lying adulterer, that's all," he groans, falling back in The position.

I find myself in the familiar comforting stance as before, rubbing his back in small, affectionate circles. "It could've been worse."

"Well fuck, it could've been a _lot_ worse," he decides, lifting his head once again to see me. "But it could've been a lot better too. Why did I think it was a good idea to bring you along again?"

"…For moral support?" I guess. Honestly I couldn't tell you half of the logic in what he and I have been doing these past few days. Logic went out the window when I found my world caving in around me.

"A lot of good that did me. Now she thinks I'm a terrible person. And I couldn't lie. I couldn't tell her you were there because you and Stan broke up and we had been getting closer and…"

"You couldn't make up a believable lie even if you tried," I challenge.

"But why did I have to tell her the fucking truth?" he whines. "Now I'm doomed to be the stereotypical gay son that has no morals and doesn't respect the boundaries of relationships. You know she's going to want me to get some counseling on becoming an ethically better person."

I giggle. "Is that really _that_ bad?"

He snorts. "Yes."

"Kyle," I say, frowning. "Your mother accepts you for who you are. She thinks you're very brave. And while telling her you fucked your best friend when he was still with his girlfriend _might've_ not been the best idea…she'll appreciate your honesty in the long run." I give him my most convincing look so that he'll stop feeling sorry for how badly it went and focus on the positives. I'm relieved it went so well. I can't imagine what my mom would do if I told her I was gay. She about had a meltdown when I told her about Stan.

To this, Kyle methodically begins to beat his head on his hands, which wrap around the wheel. "Idiot, idiot, idiot!" he chants.

"Stop!" I tell him forcefully. "You're being a drama-queen."

He stops his pounding long enough to respond. "You think back to telling your mom you've had sex with another boy and tell me I'm being overdramatic." The pounding begins once again.

"Whatever, I'm leaving," I decide, unbuckling my seatbelt and sliding my book bag over my shoulder. I haven't called home, and I haven't let mom and dad know I was going to be home late. I used that excuse on Stan earlier, but being that it's almost 7pm, I think I'm probably going to hear it from them this time. And besides, it's starting to mist again—I'm fairly sure we're on the brink of yet another sporadic rain shower.

A blind hand reaches out and grasps my forearm before a face reappears. "Just _promise_ me it wasn't as bad as I perceived it."

"It wasn't. Yes, you should've quit while you're ahead, and there was zero reason for you to segue into the details of you and Stan…I really don't know why you felt the need to inform your parents about that…"

"IT JUST SLIPPED OUT!" he cries, and I laugh loudly.

"You're fine. They'll be fine. You're lucky. They'll probably only think you're scum for like, a night, before they remember you're their son and they love you."

He snorts again. "Thank you so much for your overwhelming words of encouragement," he retorts, dripping with sarcasm. "I'll remember to return the favor someday." And with that, he lets my arm go and pats it gently.

"Can I go now?" I ask, not really awaiting his permission. The mist has turned to a gentle sprinkle that creates a soothing background noise.

He smiles warmly. "Thanks, Wendy. You've turned a shitty situation into more or less just really fucked up." I grin, taking that statement as the compliment I know he intended it as. "And if all goes well, mother will forget what a jerk I am by morning and I'll be able to butter her up for my next big announcement."

My mind draws a blank. "You're getting a sex change?" I joke, to which I receive a playful shove.

"That I'm looking to change schools!" he reminds. Oh! Oh yeah, hehe. I'd forgotten what we did all today. It's crazy to think I've only been talking to Kyle for less than forty-eight hours. Thinking about him leaving now makes me sad.

"Kyle, do you really think that's a necessary step?" I re-try, knowing full well we've been over all of this already. Still, it doesn't hurt to attempt once more.

He nods. "Now more than ever. If I don't get out of here now, I may never make it. I'll keep telling myself this is an okay life and I'm just going through a rough spot until Stan wears me down to where I can't see life without him anymore and I'll become a fucking doormat who hates himself and everything he stands for again."

I'm shocked he could admit that. It makes me admire him more.

"You still want to be with him, after all this," I say to myself more than anything. I'm trying to soak up that information.

He sighs. "I don't want that, but I know myself enough to know that's what will happen. I can't stay here."

"I understand."

"I want to keep in touch with you, Wendy. You're an awesome girl and…I'm sorry we had to get together under these circumstances, but I'm glad we did," he informs me as if it's his final farewell. I'm pretty sure these transfers take time, and he's going to have to grin and bear it at school for a little while, but whatever.

"Me too, Kyle. Me too."

We hug and say our goodbyes. He backs out of my driveway just as I unlock the front door. Of course mom is furious with me for not clueing her in on the plans, but as soon as I explain to her what happened and why I did what I did, she falls all over me, telling me what an amazingly selfless person I am.

A few hours later, I go to bed at a normal hour, lulled to sleep by the gentle patter of rain falling onto my roof. I nestle in my covers to get warm, fully expecting to see Kyle's smiling face in school the next day.

Little do I know, when he set his mind to getting out of there as fast as he could, that meant he was on the phone the next day for a transfer, filing the paperwork, and doing what needed to be done. I wouldn't have thought it was going to be as smooth of a switch as what it was, but I guess I was wrong.

Because if I had known that would be the last time I saw him before he transferred out of South Park High School, I would've spent those last minutes in the car a bit differently. I would've made him feel better about himself, and let him know that he's too good for someone like Stan.

We both are.

It's about time I realize that. We're better off without him in our lives all together. All of this gloom and bad weather has centralized around one person, and we no longer need him to survive. It's been a torrential downpour for too many months now, but now it's Stan's turn. That boy is going to sink on his own with no one there to save him, and while I feel a slight hint of guilt, he brought it on all himself. He's going to need a lot larger life jacket if he's planning to brave the upcoming storm. What will happen when he realizes Kyle is gone and he isn't coming back? What will he do then? Who will he turn to?

When will it ever stop raining?


	10. A Fallen Angel

I'm so happy to see that there are some reviewers yet out there! For you, I have great news. It seems that really everything that was going on with my life was leaving me with zero motivation to write. But now that I've had time to reflect on and accept what's happened, my passion for expressing myself through true dramatic fashion has been restored! And with a combination of unwanted free time and unfortunate insomnia, I was able to write this next bit in no time at all. Hooray for me!

This story has officially gone completely off-track from its original direction. And I like it that way. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 9- A Fallen Angel**

"Honestly, Wendy, how will we ever be able to go on? How will this town be able to _function_?"

I roll my eyes. "Bee, don't you think you're being just a bit overdramatic? I think South Park will live without Kyle's presence. You are probably one of the only ones who miss him already," I reply, eyeing her as she frowns at me for revealing the true reason for her mourning.

"Don't forget you," she adds in that perky proud voice of hers.

"And me," I revise. Sure I'm going to miss him. I feel like I've lost a friend before I ever really had a chance to gain him. It's only been two days, but he's already called me to tell me about his move to the dormitory and registering for classes in his new school uniform. I bet he looks hot in it. Every boy always looks hotter when he's dressed up.

"And Stan."

I sigh. Stan is probably dying on the inside, wondering where his precious secret love could be. Kyle is never sick from school—he usually came here even when he was sporting a fever. He and I are so alike it's scary.

"Admit it, Wendy. You're sadder than a diabetic who craves sugar," Bebe tells me, and I scoff. Ever since I told her what an analogy was and how it worked, she's been trying to use them in daily conversation. She has yet to use one properly. Although that one wasn't half-bad…

Intrigued, I follow up with, "why are you so adamant about my missing Kyle?" I lower my eyes and stab my fork at a limp green bean stubbornly. I didn't she'd want anyone else to share her feelings about him. Bebe can be very selfish, very stubborn, and very immature when it comes to boys she likes and how others like them too. Not that I _like_ Kyle, but…I have grown fond of him in the past…four days.

"Its just nice to see you moping about someone other than Stan for a change," she voices, and I quiet my thoughts, focusing on what she just said.

Am I moping again? I didn't think I was. Its not like I feel sick when I step out of bed first thing in the morning anymore. In fact, it takes me all the way up until I _see_ Stan at school to remotely feel any sense of nausea. Even then I think it's due to my intense disdain for him, not my undying, unreciprocated love. No, I think that ship has sailed. Thank God.

Bebe continues to flap her mouth, but I tune her out in favor of looking over at Stan. It pains me to see him, sitting there all alone. Sure he's with his football buddies—he always is. But he looks so distant, so lost. It's his own damn fault for pushing everyone who cares about him away, but still…there's an emptiness behind his eyes I've never noticed before. I wonder if he's beginning to realize what an idiot he's been over the past few weeks. If it will have any impact on his future decisions at all. If Kyle's absence will give him a change of heart. If he'll ever have enough courage to right his wrongs.

"…And I know it won't be long befo—Wendy, are you even listening to me?" Bebe cuts herself off, and I only turn back as I hear her call my name.

"Huh?" I reply while daydreaming.

"Wendy, dammit!" she yells, slamming her palm down on the table forcefully. "I was just commending you for not getting caught up in Stan and now you're doing it again!"

"I'm sorry!" I cave in guiltily. "But it's not what you think! I'm not sad about him, Bee. Trust me, I'm over that jerk." I sigh before taking a swig of my chocolate milk.

I continue to eat my lunch, seeing how time is running out. All the while, however, I'm keenly aware of Bebe monitoring my actions. I know I'm under her watchful eye even as she picks up her own milk and haughtily sips it through a straw. She doesn't say anything, but continues to study me until I can't take it any longer. I take the last bite of my chicken burger and look at her expectantly. "What!"

She blinks slowly to stall and build up importance to whatever she's about to say. Taking a deep breath, she holds it in and looks up to the ceiling as if the words she's looking for are just floating above us. Finally, she shifts her focus back to me and drops her shoulders. "Wendy, you are my very best friend, and I love you."

Uh oh. When she prefaces anything like that, I know she's about to deliver a harsh blow.

"I love you too, Bee…"

"But if you don't stop lying to me about being over Stan, I'm going to march down, pick Kyle up and personally deliver him back here so you can watch them make up. In surround sound. With an audience," she states harshly.

I frown angrily, feeling my defenses rise. What the hell? I'm not lying! "I'm not lying!" I say aloud.

"Oh please," she retorts, tapping her new and expensive nails on the table. "Don't expect me to buy this bullshit. It hasn't even been a month since you saw them fucking in his house. You can't honestly be _over_ that, Wends. Girls don't work that way. We can't just forget what we saw and move on like it didn't shake up our world. And we're in high school for Christ sake! We over dramatize _everything_! It's in our very nature to whine and complain about anything and everything until our girlfriends cheer us up!" She looks at me crossly as I stare on, perplexed by this random outburst. "And I haven't been given any chances to cheer you up," she informs with a pointed index finger in my direction. "Not once have I been on damage control because you've been too frail to ask for help."

This is ridiculous! What is she even talking about? "Bebe, you had like two weeks of…damage control, remember? I was a wreck and my mom practically forced me out of the house with you so you could take me places that didn't remind me of Stan! That's why we went to the diner. Remember?" I'm so confused right now. What is she getting at? Is she upset that I'm not upset anymore?

She scoffs, leaning back and crossing her arms. "That was one week. And then you met Kyle, and now you're too happy for words. One night with him and you're cured. Miraculous. Had I known, I would've dumped you on his front step the minute you began hurting."

I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. She is being irrational. She gets like this sometimes. Somehow, I think it _does_ go back to her being jealous about my newfound relationship with Kyle, but I don't want to call her out on it quite yet. Like I said before, Bebe can be extremely immature when it comes to boys she likes. Even if they are uninterested and completely unavailable.

"Are you just picking a fight with me?" I ask curiously, but knowing immediately that was the exact opposite of something I should've said.

Her temper flairs up and I see fire in her eyes. "Can you honestly tell me you're over Stan when I can clearly see that you're not?" she fires back.

"Yes!"

"…Why are you lying to me, Wendy," she repeats softly.

"I'M NOT!" I roar, this time way too loudly for cafeteria standards. My extreme fury is accompanied by two very strong palm slams to the table, mocking her wimpy display earlier.

This is not like Bebe to be so…so…demanding! Yeah she has weird methods for things, but not like this. Something is clearly up her ass and I don't really feel like getting to the bottom of it. Ha, I chuckle inwardly at my pun.

"Once you let it out, it'll feel much better," she advises.

"I'm two seconds away from leaving this table," I tell her furiously, "if you don't tell me why the hell you're interrogating me with pointless questions."

To this, she situates herself neatly on her side and places her soiled napkin on the table next to her tray. Pushing her tray closer to me, she brings her elbows to the table and interlocks her fingers. "Because you need to vent. And because I know what buttons to push to get you pissed off enough to do so."

For the billionth time, I frown at her._That's it_?

"And," she adds, her voice calm once again, "because I know you understand your situation, you may have even accepted it, but you are not over him."

I sigh and opt to look at her partially eaten food.

"You tell yourself that so you can disguise your true feelings. What we saw in his house that night was pure torture for you. And you have yet to talk about it, Wendy." She reaches out, extending two fingers to lift my lowered chin. "You forget, I know you. And while you probably do like Kyle now, it still doesn't change the fact that what he did to you was downright shitty. It just can't be healthy to hang out with your ex-boyfriend's ex-lover all the time, can it?"

"Bee, you were the one who told me to talk to him in the first place!" I speak up for the first time in a couple of minutes.

She nods and says, "true. But I didn't expect you to attach yourself to him. You were replacing Stan with Kyle."

"I was _not_ doing that," I protest.

"Oh yeah? Tell me you didn't once think about being with Kyle."

I stare at her incredulously. "Bebe, he's gay!"

"So?"

"…"

"He's still hot."

I slap my forehead and slowly slide my hand downwards until it is resting on my mouth. Bebe's glimpse of insight has vanished. It has been replaced by her much stronger sense of lust. I shake my head, refusing to further this conversation. She really is hopeless. Just when I think she's on to something, she reminds me of why she's just my best friend, not a psychologist.

"Whatever, I'd do him if he requested it," she continues, forgetting about her previous point.

I close my eyes for this response. "But he would never request it, seeing that he prefers the male anatomy over yours."

"You're just jealous cause you want him now too."

"Argh," I reply disgusted, my voice muffled through my hand.

"I'm not going to argue with you about this anymore," she says frankly so that it looks like she's the one giving up the conversation. She pulls her tray back to her side and looks up to the clock. "Bell's about to ring. Later!" she coos, choosing to take her exit.

"Later," I reply, finally dropping my hand and staring blankly at my uneaten green beans and applesauce cup. The whirlwind that is my best friend is now gone, so maybe I can chow down before I lose my chance. I grab my fork and stab a few beans on the end before lifting it to my mouth.

"Can I sit down?"

My shoulders drop, along with my fork, as I look up to see Stan looming over the bench where Bebe was just sitting. Looks like I should just kiss the idea of a peaceful last few minutes goodbye. I shrug, unwilling to make eye contact. "I don't own the cafeteria," I reply dumbly.

Instead of chiding me for the stereotypical response from someone who doesn't welcome their visitor, Stan plops himself down right in front of me. "How you doin'?" he asks meekly.

Again, I shrug. "I've been better."

"Me too," he admits, and I notice he too won't make eye contact.

"What's the matter, Stan? Is your reputation and your fake friends not fulfilling your life as much as you'd hoped they would?" I inquire sarcastically, unable to resist.

He exhales quickly and purses his lips, looking to the side of me. "I'm not here for insults, Wendy. I just want to know if you've heard anything from Kyle."

I rest my arms on the table before me and sigh deeply. Finally, I look him straight in the eye. He quickly looks away. "After all we've been through, you have the audacity to ask me about Kyle?"

He lowers his eyes and contracts his body to the center. "I have no one else to ask."

Throwing my head back, I scoff. "Well find someone else, Stan," I recommend as I gather up my tray and utensils and stand up.

"Wendy, I'm miserable without him," he blurts out and I pause all movements. He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "Please, I'm asking for your help."

I open my mouth to say something, but find there really isn't anything I can say in this situation. What could he possibly want from me? To tell him everything's going to be fine? I won't do it, cause it won't be. He needs to tell the truth. He owes everyone, including himself, that honesty. I can't have sympathy for his misery if he's willing to do nothing about it. And I can't offer him anything—I have nothing to give.

I'm so captivated by his cry for help that I find myself sitting back down. "You're asking _me_ for help?" I clarify.

He nods slowly. "I need to talk to him. I've called his house so many times I've lost count, and every time Sheila hangs up when I tell her its me. I know she's pissed when he and I fight, but this is different. Did he tell her about us?"

I can't believe I'm having this discussion with him. I can't believe he has the nerve to discuss it with me! Is he so insensitive that he doesn't realize how badly he broke my heart through all the lies? Or is it that he is so utterly desperate that he is at his last hope for happiness? There's no way I can tell him where Kyle is or even let him know why he's left. But I guess I can make him panic a bit.

"Yes, he did. He told his entire family."

The color in his face drains. "Do you know how it went? How'd they take it?"

"I was there when he did it," I confess.

"You?!?!" he cries, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that the girls beside us who were having their own conversation are now listening in. It makes me wonder if Stan knows this. Or even cares. Maybe he's reached his breaking point.

Sure enough, he lowers his voice. "Why the fuck were _you_ there," he demands.

"He asked me to be," I reply simply. The guys beside the girls are now listening too.

At this information, Stan blinks once before licking his teeth and nodding, staring blankly into the space between us where the table lies. "He asked you to be there," he repeats, as if he has to explain it through his own voice in order for him to understand what has happened.

"And don't worry, they were okay with it," I further, just to get a rise out of him.

His eyes snap back up to mine. "They_were_?!"

I nod. Now the conversation going on beside me involves what their interpretation is of Stan and I's conversation. Perhaps I should clear up any confusion. "Stan, Kyle's parents don't care that he's gay. And neither should yours. All of your paranoia will be for nothing." The girl beside me just gasped. I hear someone in the distance mutter, "Kyle Broflovski?"

His eyes go wide at my statement, but he says nothing. It looks like he's blown a fuse or something, because he is barely moving except to breathe. Is it because I just outed him to a couple of our classmates "unknowingly"? Or is it because he knows I'm right?

"Kyle's happier now, Stan. He doesn't have to hide who he is anymore. And if I were you, I'd do the same thing. Not just for him, but for you too. Stop living a lie." I feel six pairs of eyes glued to my every word, and they're all coming from the other end of this table. Funny how they didn't listen in while Bebe and I were arguing about the boys. Though, I guess it was a pretty huge thing when Stan and I broke up—maybe we were the talk of the town. Well, now they know why it happened.

Stan still isn't speaking. He isn't blinking either.

"I'm sorry, I can't be the one to help you, Stan. You've got to help yourself first," I notify him, referring to our earlier conversation.

I hear him take a big gulp to swallow his emotions. "Where's Kyle," he persists. After everything I just said…after spilling his secret to those around us, that's what he has to ask me? He isn't denying his sexuality? He isn't refuting anything I suggested? He's still only concerned with Kyle.

I feel that pain I've been trying to suppress rise up again. He would have never been so focused on me if someone were threatening his reputation. He would've denied any allegations and went forth with his life thinking of himself first. Stan's always been a bit on the selfish side.

"Not here," I point out obviously.

"No kidding," he replies, not the least bit amused. "Where is he? If they were so cool with him coming out, where is he now?" His voice is somewhat shrill and condemning, and now even more people are staring in this direction.

"Not _here_, Stan" I reiterate, not trying to be clever in the slightest.

"Dammit, Wendy, I can SEE he's not here! Where'd he go? Where'd they ship him off to?" He leans forward in a similar fashion as Bebe had. "And don't try to tell me he left on his own free will. I know Kyle and I know he wouldn't have left South Park unless his mom forced it."

"Well then I guess it just goes to show you how much you _don't_ know Kyle, Stan. Because he transferred himself out of here and moved to a prep school in Denver as quickly as he could! He HATES this place!" I spit.

"You're lying…" he says, and although I know he's saying that because he believes me but doesn't want to, it gets to me.

I slam my hands back down and stand up, angrily. "That's the second time I've been accused of being a liar today, Stan, and once again, it's not true. It isn't _my_ fault you couldn't confront your fears and stop pretending like he doesn't matter to you." By this point, I'm flat-out yelling. Practically the entire cafeteria is listening in. And I don't care.

Stan stands up as well, supporting his upper body over the table with his shaking arms. "He didn't give me enough time!" is his excuse.

"Since when is a year not enough time?"

"I was going to tell everybody!" he screams. "I just wasn't ready yet!"

"But you sure had no trouble cheating on me with him while you were preparing yourself," I retort.

He throws his head back in aggravation before continuing. "You don't understand, it's not that easy! It's not like I can just tell everybody that I'm a queer!"

The cafeteria falls dead silent. I look at him for the longest time before taking a deep breath, re-collecting my tray and utensils, and squeezing out of the confines of the cafeteria bench. I take a few steps away, watching as his face remains scrunched up. Quieter than before, I inform him, "looks like you just did."

Conveniently, the bell rings. And I'm not able to stay any longer. I follow the hoards of gossiping students to the trashcans and out the door as we all head off to class to spread the news like wildfire. I only look back once, when the crowd at the door becomes so thick I have to look away. Everyone is filing toward me except for the one boy whose life just dramatically changed.

Stan stands in the same spot, his hands glued to the table. I can't see his expression, but I can imagine he hasn't moved a muscle since he realized his worst nightmare just came true. Now they all know.

His reputation is ruined.

---

You know when you have that sneaking suspicion that everyone is watching you? That everywhere you go there are eyes attached to your every move so much that if you even breathe funny, you know you'll be the topic of discussion for days to come?

Now, what happens when you close your eyes to shake those paranoid thoughts out of your head, only to find that nothing has changed when you open them? That there really _are_ hundreds of eyes watching you, waiting for you to make a statement?

It didn't take long for the breaking news to travel through the entire school. By the end of fifth period, every girl, guy, and teacher was giving me sympathetic glances that harbored an inner curiosity. Many felt the need to express this to me.

"Did Stan leave you for Kyle?" they'd ask. "No," I'd say back. "Did you two break up because of them?" was another one. "Yes," would be my answer. "Did Kyle leave South Park because of Stan?" I'd reply with a "no", because in reality, that wasn't all there was to it. That topic was found to be argumentative. All and all, by the end of the school day every student and their mother knew about Stan, Kyle, and their scandalous relationship.

To say this reaction surprised me would be an exaggeration. Stan is probably the most popular guy in our senior class. This is _huge _news worthy of discussion. But he has finally come clean! And though it's too little, too late—and purely accidental—he is officially out of the closet. A very public announcement made sure of that. There is no going back for Stanley Marsh. All he can do now is move forward.

I hear a substantial amount of not-so-quiet whispers buzz around me as I practically sprint through the halls. The second-to-last bell has rung and I'm ready to leave this place. A sense of relief filters through my bones the closer I get to freedom from this madhouse.

"Wendy!" Bebe shouts as I close in on my locker. She, of course, is situated directly in front of it, arms crossed and eyes beckoning for a recap of the much talked about scene she missed earlier.

I groan at her presence. The last person I want to talk to is her because she already knows _everything_. I don't feel the need to go into detail about stale information. Yet, according to Bebe, when the shit hits the fan, she's the first to run from the room to tell everybody else about it. It is her duty to report events like this. Stan's broadcasted confession is probably a goldmine for her reputation as gossip queen. I doubt she'd pass the opportunity up in favor of being a comforting friend. In fact, she's probably going to utilize her title as ex-girlfriend's best friend to enhance her credibility. She can be such an inconsiderate bitch when it comes to this stuff.

"Wendy, doll, you must be absolutely SPEECHLESS!" she plays up, throwing her arms around me the minute I reach the somewhat refuge of my locker. The entire student population in this wing ceases all conversation and movement to hear how I respond.

I give Bebe a look that tells her she's not quite dead yet, but keep it up and they'll be handing out flyers for her funeral. She quickly shuts up and moves aside, allowing me to bury my head in the confines of my locker.

Why'd I ever think this was a good idea? I'm glad he did it—no, in fact I'm _relieved_ he did it, but it's still just as painful as I'd imagined. I know Stan's probably taking the brunt of it, but I'm the lowly girlfriend who hadn't a clue of their affair of one year. I hear the rumors that have already circulated. "Wendy threatened Kyle and that's why he left", "Wendy knew Stan was only using her but she wanted to be prom queen", "Wendy asked to join in and Kyle refused, so Stan broke up with both of them." It's fucking ridiculous! I want to scream at the top of my lungs but no one will hear me. They're all too busy fabricating these flat-out lies, like me being pregnant with Kyle's baby from having sex with Stan! When I heard that one, I marched right up to the culprits and offered to pay for their hospital bill, because if they so much as mouthed another word, I was going to use their heads for target practice.

I've had enough.

"Sweetie, remember what we talked about before. Its okay to vent," Bebe whispers rather loudly. I think she's trying to play the role of comforting friend with intentions of backstabbing me once I answer. So I keep my mouth shut and glare at her once again.

She looks around and laughs nervously. I see her point to me and mouth something along the lines of "give us a minute" to the rest of the obnoxiously nosey senior class. I want to smack her.

Turning to me, she huddles in really close. "Wendy, I'm worried about you. You have that look in your eye like you're out for blood. You aren't going to go out and do something…stupid, are you?"

To this, I turn to her with my eyebrows raised. "No," I growl, and go back to sulking in my locker. She really is making too big of a deal out of it. I wouldn't even give a damn about Stan's declaration if the whole world didn't remind me of it every nanosecond! I just want to forget about today and pray that tomorrow only a few people will be serving it up as rerun news.

Yeah right.

"Do you need me to stay with you tonight?" she continues sweetly.

Again, I turn to her and reply with a simple "no". Yanking my coat off the hook, I slide it onto my shoulders and button it up hastily.

"I just wanna make sure that you're okay."

Staring into my locker like I'm staring down the barrel of a rifle, I analyze that statement. In making sure I'm okay, she'd want me to vent about the situation, thus gaining more dirt on Stan and the knowledge needed to power the greatest gossip of it all—the truth. No, I don't need that right now. Quite frankly, I'd much rather stick my head in a blender. "I'll be fine," I reply curtly, grabbing and securing my scarf.

Pulling out whatever books I need for the night (I have no idea) and stuffing them haphazardly into my book bag, I feel a hush fall on the already silenced crowd surrounding me. Bebe gasps and steps back a few feet. I turn to her in impatience and curiosity and find that she's staring wide-eyed right through me.

"What is it," I say annoyed. I'm all too aware of how melodramatic this girl really is. She swallows before her lips part once again, as if to answer me. It is then that I realize she isn't looking at _me_. Her eyes are frozen somewhere right behind me. I follow her gaze and come face to face with Stan.

"We need to get out of here," he informs me, and for once, I don't disagree.

I nod in response and slam my locker shut, hoisting my bag over my shoulder. I look at Bebe, as if to say, "sorry but not today" and follow Stan's lead out to the double doors. Thank God the senior hall is right in the front lobby. Once we've left this hallway, we're out of the school. Away from these accusing stares.

"Ugh, the nerve of some people!" I scream the second we throw open the doors and taste freedom. We take off in no particular direction, but I have trouble keeping up with Stan's brisk pace. I find myself skipping steps and increasing my heart rate.

Stan keeps his eyes low to the ground in front of us with his hands stuffed in his coat pocket. He doesn't say anything even as we pass the street where his car is located.

His pace quickens even more as we near Stark's Pond, which is exactly three minutes from the high school. I know this because Stan and I used to sneak off after his football games to fool around in the romantic backdrop of our town's only pond. To get there we had to duck across the stadium parking lot, through the wooded area that separates our school from the park, and sneak through the clearing where cops liked to park. Remarkably they never thought to circle the picnic area, where half-a-dozen open cabins framed the small pond. Stan and I thought we were just lucky—that is, until I clued Bebe in on the hot spot, and she began bringing every guy under the sun to our secret rendezvous. They never got caught either. Now that I look back on it, I highly doubt it was secret anyway. I'm surprised we never ran into anyone else.

I glance at Stan and realize that he is walking straight for one of the aforementioned cabins. I wonder if he remembers their significance for us.

I wonder if he and Kyle went here…

Considering they couldn't even keep their pants on during school, there's probably a good chance they did. I bet they did it in every place Stan and I did and thensome. I shake my head. This is the wrong time to be thinking these thoughts.

We head for cabin #4, which just happens to be unlike the rest of them. This cabin is the only one that is closed—I think it was the meetinghouse or something. If we wanted this one we had to break into it. I liked it best, mainly because there was a way to lock it. Dammit, I'm certain Stan shared this experience with Kyle too. He'd have to be stupid not to.

Or maybe…just _maybe_…he had enough respect for _our_ special meeting place, he wouldn't dare dream of tainting it?

I catch up to Stan just as he marches right into the front door effortlessly. Soon after, I enter the room and turn to look at the latch on the door. There isn't one!

"It won't lock anymore," I point out, twisting the new knob and proving my point.

Stan looks at it. "Yeah I know. It was like that the last time Kyle and I came." Ha, so much for respect of _our_ place. "He said they must've changed it since so many people took advantage of its privacy." He turns away from me and looks around. "A lot of good memories in here…" I hear him mumble.

At that statement, I frown. Not only did he bring Kyle here, but they also had to change the locks because so many people did the same thing we did? Wow, this place holds no significant value at all. I feel like a stupid girl for ever holding it close to my heart.

"When did you and Kyle come here last?" I inquire innocently, trying my best to not seem overly meddlesome.

"A few months ago," he replies absentmindedly, his attention absorbed in something on the back wall.

I walk up to his side and imitate his actions to appear interested in something other than the current conversation. "Did you guys come here often?"

"Not often enough," he responds quickly, and that sinking feeling in my gut forms. I'm suddenly angry again, but this time, it's at my own stupidity for never catching on to those two.

My eyes dart around the room, noticing fishing supplies in the corner. "Oh. Did Kyle like to go fishing?"

Stan snaps out of his trance at whatever he's been looking at and scoffs. "Wendy, you don't have to try this hard to get me to admit it." He turns to me. "Yes I took Kyle here. It was pretty much the only place we had where we could be alone. And I know it was you and I's sorta…special place…but I couldn't think of anywhere better. If that makes you hate me, then you'll just have to join the long line of people waiting to burn me at the stake."

I roll my eyes and shove him. "Give me a break, Stan. No one is going to 'burn you at the stake'. They all still love you. They're just shocked, that's all."

He lifts a brow and stares at me blankly. "Shocked and appalled. Their team captain's a queer. Their role model's a fucking fag. Their-"

"Don't flatter yourself," I tell him. "You're not all that special. Besides, you were gay before you admitted it, so what's the big deal? Did they spit on you when they found out?"

"Well no…"

"Was anyone waiting by your locker to beat you up?"

He stalls on that one but eventually shakes his head. "No, but they were talking about me."

I laugh. "Uh, yeah! You just announced that you like to have sex with other guys! Its quite a shock to all who thought you were the most masculine testosterone-filled man in South Park."

He throws his hands up in his hair and begins to pace. "Fuck, Wendy, I did, didn't I?"

I nod quietly. I'm glad he's not going to blame this one on me. I don't think I'd have the strength to restrain myself.

He tears at his hair and growls. "Why didn't you stop me? Why did you just let me keep talking!"

I grit my teeth. Okay, I spoke too soon.

Throwing his head back, he screams at the ceiling. As he takes a deep breath, he closes his eyes and tries to find his center. Then he shakes his head. "I need to sit down."

He squats on a bench that is a few feet behind us and I gently take a seat beside him. As he cradles his head in his hands, he rocks back and forth slightly.

I look around, though I'm not really sure why. There is no one around. I doubt anyone followed us—that'd be too pathetic even for our town. I guess I'm trying to find the right words to say. Oddly enough, I feel that it's my duty to make him feel better about himself. Stan has wronged me so many times by now I've lost count. But inside, he's the same guy I fell in love with. He still has an intense passion for anything and anyone he cares about, he still holds himself to a certain caliber of expectation that's almost impossible to reach, and he is still as fragile about how other's perceive him as he was when we were kids. In fact, I think he's gotten a lot worse at that.

I used to think of him as this unnaturally gifted superhero. An angel sent down from heaven to protect me and be with me always. And I was the lucky one for snagging him. He was amazing! There was no load he couldn't bear. There was no feat he couldn't accomplish. He was my prince, a gallant knight with the strength of ten men. But after examining his character, I'd say that I might've built him up only because I had been carried away by my fantasy of the perfect man. Believing in someone who wasn't real at all. Because when it comes down to it, Stan Marsh isn't all that spectacular, really. In fact, he is just your average guy with average to above average problems. Problems that I'm finding he's incompetent to handle. And this strength I saw in him have must have been another fantasy because actually, he is pretty weak.

And I think he may have just broken. Again.

"Stan?" I call out softly.

He stops the rocking, and I hear him take a deep breath. I watch as his shoulders rise up, and then down as he gradually lets out his air. Finally, he looks away from his hands and down to the floor. "I can't believe I did that," he mutters.

I close my mouth and wait for him to continue. He's about ready to lose his cool, I can sense it.

"I can't believe," he pauses, "I did _that_." He starts shaking his head and laughing out of frustration. When he turns to me, I see his eyes fighting back an emotion I've only known him to have when Kyle is involved. "What am I gonna do, Wends? How am I gonna face them? What am I gonna tell my parents? Oh FUCK I've gotta tell them before they found out from someone else!"

"Stan, calm down," I respond mechanically.

"No!" he screams. "Why did I have to open my mouth to begin with?! Jesus fuck, Wendy, you knew I was going to do that, didn't you. That's why you didn't stop me. You _wanted_ me to tell everyone, didn't you!" he accuses.

I think about this for a minute. "Well, yeah," I admit. When his blame grows glaringly obvious, I continue. "But I didn't necessarily want you to blab it like_that_. I didn't expect you to say half of what you did at the table. You must've known everyone was listening!"

"I didn't even think about it!" he screeches in defense. Then, just like before, he drops his head back into his hands and begins whining again. "Goddammit, I just wanted to know where Kyle went."

I sigh. His confession could've been avoided had I cooperated more. But I'm glad it happened the way it did. Now it forces Stan to come to terms with himself. I can't wait to tell Kyle he actually did it.

Aw, Kyle. Too bad he couldn't have stayed here an extra few days to witness the spectacle. It wouldn't have happened, though, if it weren't for him leaving. So I guess its true when they say everything happens for a reason.

Stan drops his hands abruptly and stares wide-eyed at the table in front of us. "Wendy, I'm an idiot."

I bite my lip to avoid agreeing.

He shakes his head again. "Fuck, I had him. I had him and all he wanted me to do was come out. And we could've been together. Do you have any idea how badly I wanted that?"

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

"He made me so happy. God, he did so much to make me happy. I wanted to be with him more than anything."

I think I might've torn a hole through my lip.

"I don't think anyone could've ever loved me as much as he did."

I glare at him. "No? You don't think so?"

He shakes his head. "Not like Kyle…"

I find myself closing my eyes and gritting my teeth. Stan is obviously grieving right now. It's in your very nature to be illogical and insensitive toward others during a time like this. Either that, or he is very much a bonafide asshole. "Stan," I state as calmly as possible, "need I remind you who you are talking to?"

"Huh?" he answers distracted. He glances up at me but it doesn't register. At least not as much as it should. "Yeah I know, I'm sorry. But I feel like I've lost the most important person in my life, and I'm not really sure how to get him back." His eyes brighten as he turns my way. "Unless…"

"No," I cut him off. "No. Nope, that's it. You can't sit here and tell me about how Kyle means SO much to you and he's the best thing that's ever happened to you—"

"He is," he adds quietly.

I feel something inside of me explode. Perhaps it's finally that fuse that was lit shortly after I first found out about them.

"Is he?" I snap. "Fuck you, Stan! You know what? Fuck. You. You can deal with this all on your own!" I announce, grabbing my bag from the bench where I dropped it when we first came inside. He looks at me like he's surprised by my sudden outburst. He can_not _be that stupid.

"You insensitive prick!' I spit when he continues to stare at me without a response. "Look, I may've sought you two out to uncover the truth myself, but I don't need to HEAR about how much you love him and how much you want to be with him and how no one else can even compare to him! In case you've forgotten, _I_ was the supposed love of your life for TEN fucking years. Or so I thought, because you didn't lead me to believe any differently. You kept going with me behind Kyle's back, or kept going with Kyle behind my back, or HOWEVER you look at it for a _year_, Stan! You didn't have enough balls to confess to me your true feelings, you fucking coward! And you try to play the _victim_ in this whole mess? Well I don't feel sorry for you! Not one bit!" I walk toward him with an accusing finger. "You deserve every dirty look you get, asshole! And I'm done with you! For real this time!"

"Wendy," he starts, but I cut him off.

"Don't Wendy me, Stan. I've put up with your selfishness for far too long now. You think this whole thing's been easy on _me_? You think it was a picnic finding out that your future fiancée was fucking his guy best friend and didn't have the courtesy to tell me? You think it was fun and games catching you in the act so that you were FORCED to tell the truth?" I glare at him, remembering every detail of that night. "You got out of that one so easily, Stan. Kyle and I just let you sit and wallow in your own pathetic self-pity. We didn't give you what you truly deserved.

"I should've let you rot in your denial for a little longer. Maybe you would've thanked me, or apologized to me, or did _something_ to me to make me see that you truly do feel remorse for what you did. Instead you try to make me feel _guilty_, like I'm the one who has been living a fucking lie and refuse to deal with it! NO MORE, Stan!

"You know Kyle wanted to out you to the school?" Stan's eyes register intrigue at this statement, so I explain further. "Bebe mentioned it to me and I mentioned it to him as a joke, but he was serious about it. She thought we should join forces to tell your deepest, darkest secret and watch you try to worm your way out of _that_ mess. It would've been so flawless, Stan. With both Kyle and I's word, it would've been virtually impossible for anyone to argue with facts. And everyone knows that Kyle and I never really got along, so we wouldn't be conspiring against you."

"Why," he croaks, swallowing to remove the lump in his throat. "Why didn't you go through with it then?"

"Because _I _told him that wasn't fair to you! I told him that we're better than that and it is YOUR place to tell everyone about your business, not ours. We'd done all we could—it was up to you now."

He nods slowly, taking in this information. I'm not even sure if I'm reaching him, but I don't fucking care. I've wasted too much time already. I don't even know why I chose to follow him in the first place.

"Yeah," I sum up for him. "So your precious _Kyle_ wanted to rat you out, while I, the one you love second best, or not at all, fended for your privacy. But I'm done sticking to your side, Stan. I've been here for too long and it's gotten me nowhere. Kyle was smart to get out when he could. And now I'm going to do the same." I turn around and head for the door.

"You're leaving school?" he asks dumbly.

This stops me in my tracks. Just for emphasis, I spin on my heels to face him once more. "We may not be separated physically, but you better believe that I will _never_ having any interest in being your friend again. As far as we're concerned, we're just two people who happened to date once."

He blinks in response, and I see a trace of regret behind his otherwise blank expression. Too late.

"Good luck telling your parents," I conclude. With that, I take my leave. As I walk out of that cabin, I realize that a place I once had my fondest memories in has turned into somewhere I never want to think about again. It holds a harsh truth to my life—that nothing is what it seems. I don't know what to believe. I don't even know what to feel anymore. Everything is dead to me. This past relationship with Stan…it meant nothing to him. Nothing in my _life_ that I've considered noteworthy has really amounted to more than an afterthought to him! I'm just the girl he screwed to cover his ass while he was screwing someone else. I'm just another face in his crowd of admirers.

I scold myself when this empty feeling brings tears to my eyes. It meant nothing to him, so why should it affect me? There's no need to protect him anymore. There's no need to waste even another minute crying over what could've, would've, and should've been. It's too late for pretending. I've knocked down the pedestal I placed him on and now see him for who he really is. A cowardly snake that is no more an angel than I am a saint. I wipe away a stubborn tear and quicken my strides to the car. The sky is overcast and I think it's about to storm once again.

Within seconds of spotting my car, I'm safely inside, filling the interior with a deafening scream. I don't think I've ever been so angry, hurt, or insulted in my entire life! Is this what I should come to expect from here on out? Is it par for the course? Cause if so, I'm not playing anymore.

Stan Marsh can go to hell. If he thinks he can just use me like that, he's got another thing coming. I will go the extra mile to make certain that he _never_ sees Kyle again. And that's a promise.

As I peel out of my parking space, I begin conjuring up every delicious scheme I can possibly think of. Shortly after, the sky opens up and a downpour makes it difficult for me to see. I funnel all of my energy into not killing myself until I am back in the safety of my own driveway. Then I go back to plotting. I know my thoughts may seem a bit spiteful, but revenge is a dish best served cold, right?

And right now, I'm damn near close to freezing.


	11. A Temporary Solution

Thanks you to the few who reviewed my first chapter I have no more excuses. This is too little, too late, I know that. My updating speed is comparable to that of a paralyzed snail, and for that, I'm sorry. I guess it counts that I'm still going at it though, right? Hopefully :(

Summer is just starting, and this should be a time for most people to enjoy the great outdoors and some time off of school, or work, or whatever. I, however, am not the typical person. I'll be looking for a place to work during these warm days. But I did make a promise to myself that I WILL finish this story. And also, I WILL be publishing my original Fighting The Truth by the time those trees start to turn again, or so help me... makes an intimidating fist

This message is for my anonymous reviewer, Calicocar: I don't know if you will be reading this, but if you do, there is no other way to contact you for a proper reply on what was one of the most heartfelt and thought out reviews I've ever gotten. Don't sell yourself short, and don't you ever think that a writer doesn't appreciate every single review from _anyone_. Your words greeted me this morning and were just the swift kick-in-the-pants I needed to finish up this chapter. They also made me smile a deep, grateful smile that I haven't had in a really long time. So thank you. And thank you to all reviewers. You make me feel like I'm this absolutely exquisite writer, and that motivation pumps me up to do bigger and better things.

Chapter 10- A Temporary Solution

"And _then_ he said that there's no one else in this world who cares about him as much as you do. And he didn't even stop to think who he was saying this to!" I vent, releasing a string of angry run-on sentences into the receiver. Kyle's been silent the majority of the fifteen minutes we've been talking. Rather, the fifteen minutes I've been screaming.

I breathe for a second, allowing my heart rate to calm down.

"That's harsh," Kyle responds softly. I can tell he's relishing in every word I'm saying, and that further pisses me off. I'm in such a lose-lose situation by now though, boosting his ego is the lesser of the two evils.

"He's such an asshole, Kyle. Why did I think it was a _good_ idea to follow him like that?"

He makes a noise with his throat and takes a few seconds to respond. "Uh…I don't know. Why did you?"

I frown at his obvious distraction from our conversation. I wasn't actually looking for an answer to that last question. "Kyle if you're busy, we can talk later."

"No…that's okay…." His detached words frustrate me. "No, I'd pick the blue one."

"Huh?" I ask, baffled.

"Yeah that one."

"Kyle…"

"Sorry Wendy! My new roomie was asking my opinion about which tie to wear to this honors banquet he's going to. Did I mention he's in the top 5 of our class here?"

I sigh exasperatedly. "About seven times."

I hear him frown. "I'm sorry. I'm just excited to be paired up with someone I can relate to."

"Sounds like someone has a schoolboy crush," I tease, temporarily giving up on my big news for the day. I'd think Kyle would be more interested than this to learn that Stan has confessed. Maybe he's starting to get over him already.

Kyle laughs and I hear another question from his roommate in the background. "Not likely, I've got enough baggage with me to keep me single for the rest of this year."

"That's not long," I remind him. "Then you and Intelli-Boy can romp in the Gumdrop forest and feed each other grapes under a moonlit sky."

Again, Kyle laughs. "You think all gay men are fairies? I take offense to that scenario." He lowers his voice. "And for the record, Carter is straight. I don't think he'll be romping in that forest unless it's with Tinkerbell."

"A single straight smart man? Those are hard to come by," I muse.

"He keeps asking if you're my girl-friend," Kyle continues. The word friend is with that over exaggerated lisp so it sounds like "frand". "And supposedly _I'm_ the fag."

In truth, I'm extremely surprised that Kyle outed himself to his brand new roommate the first day of his new school life. I would've thought he'd at least wait until he got to know everyone to let them in on that tidbit. Just the same, I'm proud of him. I guess he really _was _sick and tired of hiding who he really is.

"See ya," Kyle says, and I can only assume its to Carter. "Okay, now I'm all ears, Wendy. Sorry about those interruptions."

"Quite all right," I reply, finding myself oddly calmed down by his humorous quips. "I just figured you'd like to hear about what happened today."

"That you and Stan went to the cabin after school?" he clarifies. "Sure, I guess."

"No!" I exclaim. "Before that! Why we left together in the first place!"

Kyle ponders this for a second, and I can sense that he is taking all too long to respond to what should be big news. "We never really got that far, Wendy. You began this conversation by screaming at me for Stan being his usual douche bag self. I figured it was just another day of the same ole' thing."

I blink and scoff at this information, realizing that I do get a head of myself sometimes. "Um, not so much. Stan came out to the entire school."

"_**WHAT?!"**_ Kyle roars into the phone.

I nod. "This afternoon during lunch. He came over to ask me about you and one thing led to another until we were screaming at each other cause I wouldn't tell him where you're at and he wanted to know and I kept telling him you're not there and he got so pissed at me but kept going until he just blurted out that he's gay in front of the entire cafeteria." Kyle doesn't say anything in response, and I figure he needs time to absorb it all.

"Everyone and everything knows about you two by now, I'm sure. He said he had to get home before his parents found out from someone else, and I don't doubt that's true. By the end of school the whole student body knew. Good news travels fast, huh?" I chuckle, trying to lighten the stone-cold silence on his end.

"He got angry at me of course," I continue. "Saying it's my fault I didn't shut him up. But he needed to do it anyway, right? And we _had_ said it would be best for him to do it himself, _right_?" Still no response.

"I wonder how his parents will take it. If I know Randy, I bet he'll have a hissy fit that his son isn't the 'perfect' specimen anymore. Though some would tend to argue with that fact," I ramble. "Sharon'll probably be okay though. She loves her son no matter what circumstance."

"Wendy could you just…stop talking…for like a second," Kyle asks meekly. I immediately clamp my jaw shut.

I give him a few minutes of peace as he collects his thoughts, makes an attempt to understand them, and re-distributes them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Let me get this straight," he begins. "Stan told me that he wasn't ready to tell anyone—not even parents, close friends, or even just you—for a _year_, for risk of being found out by everyone in town. He said he didn't want that kind of publicity. And he didn't want to tarnish the Marsh family name." Every statement Kyle is clarifying grows with apparent anger, and I anticipate the time of reaching his boiling point to be nearing.

"He didn't want his parents to think ill of their son. He didn't think it was a good idea to share the details of our private life with the whole town. He fucking made being gay a _sin_ because he was convinced we'd be shunned as soon as the truth was exposed and yet…he thought it was a good idea to make a public announcement about his sexuality to the entire senior class? _After_ I've left town?"

"…Yeah."

"_After_ he destroyed any hopes of us having a real, honest relationship?"

"…Yes."

"_After_ he broke any sort of trust you or I had with him? After he severed all ties of friendship between us?"

"That would be a yes as well," I reluctantly admit.

"That…that…bastard. He's fucking hopeless."

I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Part of me thought Kyle was going to jump on the chance to come back just for a chance to be in Stan's arms again. "He is, yes. And his misery has spiraled into a pathetic excuse for existence."

"He waited until after I'd given up to try. I fucking hate him," Kyle bites back with a hint of remorse. Its clear he's hurt, and it's clear he doesn't hate Stan at all.

Part of me wants to console my newfound friend, but the part of me that still has trouble adjusting to what's going on prevents me from doing so. That part is a slight bit _glad_ to hear how off Stan's timing is. If it weren't, he and Kyle would be together right now. That would mean I'd be out a boyfriend _and_ out a friend. This way I'm just out the lesser of the two. Plus, I hate to admit, but I'd be bitter if they were together. Hell, I'm bitter because they're miserable without each other! How would seeing them happily together make this situation better for me?

Still, I feel a little guilty for not preparing Kyle further through padded words of encouragement to soften the blow. I've been angry with Stan for so long, it seems I've forgotten how to be sensitive toward others. And I was _so_ infuriated with him for today. It took me a good three hours just to calm down from my blowout before I could call Kyle. I knew my feelings for revenge would fade just as soon as they appeared. Besides, it's rare for me to act on impulse like that. I would've regretted doing or saying anything that would falsely detour Stan and Kyle's progress or lack thereof. I want to butt out of their relationship as much as possible. Let them make their own mistakes. Let them destroy fifteen years of friendship.

"You don't mean that," I finally state, in reference to Kyle's earlier statement of hating Stan.

I hear Kyle sigh in defeat. "You're right, I don't. But I hate that I don't hate him, does that count?"

I smile. Kyle is so cute, it's no wonder Stan fell for him. I'm beginning to think I fell for the wrong friend. "Sure, that counts," I agree through my grin.

"Good, cause that's all I've got right now," he adds quietly.

"I hate that I don't hate him either," I admit, trying my best to make him feel not alone.

He scoffs. "We're prize acts, you know that, Wends? At least we can lean on each other for support."

From downstairs, I hear my mom call out my name. I glance at my clock before I respond. "I'll always be here…except for now. Mom's calling me for dinner."

"Man is it that time already?"

"Yep."

"Alright well…I better get some food myself, you know, before the commons area closes."

"Sounds good," I mutter, distracted by the suddenly audible rumblings of my stomach.

"We have a commons area here," Kyle proudly states.

"I heard you the first time."

"Like they do in universities."

"Looks like you're getting a jumpstart in campus living," I tell him, and I know he takes it as a compliment. He's so enthralled with his new school; it makes me happy that he's so happy. I hear mom call me again, this time more impatient. "Well, I gotta get downstairs, but we'll talk later, okay?"

"Definitely."

"Okay, bye!"

"See ya. Oh and Wendy?" I've all but hung up the phone when I hear his postscript.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. For telling me about Stan. You could've 'failed' to tell me cause you thought I was going to jump right on a bus back to South Park. And I'd be lying if I said the thought didn't cross my mind. But…I'm a big boy. And I've gotten my dose of being treated like shit from him, so I'm in no mood to reward him. Like I've said before, he'll have to do a hell of a lot more than the expected for me to even turn my head."

This statement stops me in my tracks. It's a lot of words trying to disguise what he really meant to say. "You…you really would take him back?"

"If the price was right," he answers quickly, much to my disappointment. "And just so we're clear, I'm not talking about money."

"I gathered that," I state softly. I can't believe he'd actually want to take him back! After everything that has happened…Kyle is so much stronger than that! "So you'd ship your stuff and move back to South Park for a chance to be with him again?"

"Hell no," Kyle says through a scoff. "I'm not going anywhere."

"So then…what would you do?" I ignore my mother's out-of-patience yell from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm just saying that I'm leaving my options open," he concludes mysteriously.

"For _what_?" I snap. "A reunion? So, in other words, telling you about his accidental confession really _does_ make you want to hop on the first bus home?" I feel my inside temperature starting to rise. "You know he wouldn't have confessed if you were still there. You'd still be at square one, and he'd still be the clueless idiot who has your heart. Nothing would've changed, Kyle. You know this."

"…I know," he responds reluctantly.

"Then what is this crazy talk about you leaving your options open? I thought you were done with him. I thought we both were!"

"Your dinner is probably getting cold," he informs, purposely changing the subject entirely. "I've kept you long enough. Talk to you later, Wendy. Take care." And with that, the line goes dead.

It takes all I have not to chuck the phone directly into the wall across the room. And like that, my anger has been restored. Almost worse than before. Why would he want to get back together with Stan? How could he possibly have any desire?

Why am I so angry about it? Its not like I stand a chance with either one of them…I mean…not that I'd want that or anything. Especially not with Stan.

I sigh and instead toss the phone on my bed before exiting the room. Maybe Bebe's right. I think I'm starting to replace my feelings for Stan with feelings for Kyle. Maybe spending this much time talking to him isn't good for me. Maybe I should find something better to do than obsess over the love triangle that I've never really been a part of. The more time I try to analyze the situation, the more confused I get about my feelings. I just need to stay away from both parties. Only then will my life be able to resume to normal.

--

Returning to the scene of the crime is never a good idea for a criminal, so why can't I call in sick for school today? Ten bucks says Stan won't have the courage to show his face, and after the reaction from yesterday, I don't blame him. Yeah I think he should suck it up, but it can't be easy for him. Not when the whole school has been breathing down your back since day 1 of kindergarten. I wonder how he told his parents. How they responded…

'Ole Betsy sputters with every tap on the gas pedal I make, and it arouses my curiosity about whether she knows something that I don't. She's normally not this stubborn, even in the dead of winter. This morning she is barely pushing twenty. I should take this as a sign.

Bebe's chatting away, which is par for the course whenever I pick her up. It seems that her car is 'in the shop' every month. She probably just doesn't want to spend the gas money. Which is fine, because today I welcome any kind of distractions.

"Tell me, Wends, how long has it been since you last had a facial?" she asks me with a concerned tone, as if an on-time facial is at the top of my priorities. I don't even go unless she convinces me to go along with her.

"Probably last time you dragged me there," I inform her sarcastically. Betsy shutters as I slow down to stop for an intersection.

She makes a disapproving face. "Well those bags under your eyes are absolutely unsightly. You need to look into another one."

I scoff. "Thanks for the tip."

"Wendy I tell you these things because I care. No one wants to walk out in public when they look like they've been run over by a two-ton dump truck." Her descriptions are so vivid. "I don't wish that on any of my friends."

"I couldn't really care less," I voice aloud out of frustration for her bluntness. "I feel like shit so what's the point in masking that? I want the world to know how incredibly miserable I am."

"Knock it off, you're sounding helpless." She looks over at me—I can feel her stare burning into my cheek. "Its quite easy to mend yourself back together again after such a blow, sweetie. All you have to do is distance yourself from the injurer as much as possible."

I turn onto the school drive. "Again, thanks for the tip, but its kind of hard when the injurer voluntarily walks up to you because he's got no one else."

"I'm not talking about Stan this time, dear."

Rolling my eyes, I pull up behind the last car on the curb to avoid parallel parking. "Don't start with this again, Bee. I'm not the mood." Little does she know that I not only agree with her, but I fully intend to prevent further injury by laying off the communication with Kyle for awhile. It'll be better this way.

"Start with what? I'm just concerned for you. You have such natural beauty but you're wasting it. If I looked like you when I rolled out of bed, I wouldn't need to buy 100 worth of products to keep myself looking that way. You're very unappreciative of your God-given talent, Wendy. Give yourself a pat on the back and go out there and flirt! I know about a dozen guys who want to be there to pick up the pieces."

I release the gear shifter and place my car in park, turning off the engine. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I turn to her. "If I let you do my hair and makeup in the bathroom, will you stop trying to make me feel better?"

Her eyes light up with unimaginable delight. "You'd let me do that?!"

I nod, albeit hesitantly. Last time she did that, I looked like a porcelain doll whore. I went off on her for days and told her she'll never be allowed to go near me with a curling iron or eyeliner again. And I've honored that promise for three years now. But today…today I'm in no mood to talk about Stan, or Kyle, or Kyle and Stan or Stan and Kyle. I don't give a crap about those boys because, like Bee said, they're ruining my complexion! And not that I care about how I look all that much, but if my looks slide downhill because of two gay boys giving me stress, I'm going to go after them with a hot iron.

"Oh my god, Wendy, this will be so _inyourface_! Everyone knows what happened yesterday and they all expect you to come in like the train wreck you are right now, but when you show up looking gorgeous they'll have no choice but to bow down and worship you like the Goddess you are. Trust me, you'll definitely score points."

"Just what I need."

"And it may not solve your problem, sweetie, but it will temporarily make you feel so much better!" she squeals. "You'll see."

Bebe glances around, and I note that students are starting file in through the back double doors. There is about fifteen minutes before we need to be in our first period class though, and I'm sure Bebe intends to spend every single last one prissy-ing me up. I sigh audibly as I watch her dig through her suitcase size-of-a-purse and pull out a makeup case, a bag full of hair products, and a miniature curling iron. Why a girl with as tight of ringlets as she has needs a curling iron, I'll never know. Half the time she spends 50 min in the morning straightening them out anyway.

"You have got to be kidding me," I express when she pulls out an extension cord that has a car charger on the opposite end of the plug. I stare at the contraption mesmerized. "I didn't even know they _made_ those!"

Bebe expertly plugs in the heating device to the one end and pops the other into my cigarette lighter. "You never know when you'll need to pull over for a roadside emergency. Its possible to be beautiful at all times, Wendy."

"Its possible, but is it really necessary? Or practical?" I challenge, still amazed at what that purse of hers can hold. She continues to pull out spritzers and sweet-smelling sprays from its depths.

"Practical is in the eye of the beholder," she tells me as she places a comb between her teeth and yanks my hair to the passenger side. "Look down," she instructs through her teeth. I do so and focus on her impossibly perfect feet, which are a shade darker than the ivory stilettos she's sporting, and every toenail is neatly painted the precise color of her coral sweater. I reach down to touch one, discovering they're as smooth as piano keys. Whenever I'd try to paint my own toenails, they'd be so sloppy and bubbly it looked like a blind person painted them with a straw.

"Stop checking me out," she scolds, "and look up. Your hair is a rat's nest! Honestly, Wendy, do you ever groom?"

I make a face. "Only on Tuesdays when the breeder bathes me."

With that smart-aleck comment, she pulls my head back down to her ivory cloth-covered legs and yanks away at the tangles. I don't say much else as she sets the hot iron on the dashboard and "works her magic". I let her flatten my hair with a wide brush before curling the ends, and I even let her part it the opposite way of its very nature. I close my eyes and feel her brush on a dusting of her favorite color of eye shadow. I refuse to blink as she applies a thin line of eyeliner on my upper lids. I turn my cheeks when she sweeps a slightly rosy blush onto my cheekbones. I even pucker up when she applies the lip-gloss on my chapped lips. Ten minutes go by and I don't even notice.

"Okay, finito!"

I crack open my eyes as she leans back in her seat, obviously satisfied. Her eyes dare me to look at myself in the mirror. Hesitantly, I peek at what I can see in the rearview mirror. My eyes widen in disbelief at the sight. I look…normal! Better than normal, actually. Scrambling to get a better look, I flip down my sun visor and glance from side to side at her work.

"I look good!" I turn to her, all smiles.

She smiles back and laughs. "Of course you do sweetie. I've _told_ you that you've got natural beauty. I just found it again."

I glimpse at my watch. "And we're not late!"

She unplugs the curling iron, wrapping the chord around the body, and dumps all of her beauty supplies back into her purse. "Make up on the go. Maybe I should make a business that does just that!"

I grin as she daydreams about a potential new business idea, and gather my own books that have spilled out over the back seat. Together we walk into the building that I was condemning a few short minutes ago. Only this time, she's right. This really has boosted my confidence. It's made me feel like I'm not the victim anymore. I'm not helpless. I'm full of power! I'm full of grace! I'm full of-

"Shit!" Bebe curses, stopping in her tracks and pouting at the ground. I too stop, turning to look at the mess of supplies scattered on the ground from her once-functional purse.

"Get too heavy?" I speculate, bending down to help her with the clean up. She hands me the bag in a huff and sits cross-armed. It's made of a sparkly gold material and has a giant clasp on the top of it. It looks like an oversized change purse. I inspect the accessory, deciding that it's plastic. Not the cheap plastic that looks tacky, but its definitely hard and bendable. I rotate the bag 360 degrees and find the problem.

"You burnt a hole through your purse?!" I cry out, trying desperately to stifle my laughter behind my lips. I reach over and pick up the still-hot curling iron that has melted pits of plastic that are cool to the touch. "Looks like we found the culprit," I tease.

She yanks it away from me, muttering something under her breath. I scan over her supply on the floor and grab a roll of gold duct tape. Even her _duct tape_ has to be fashionable. With my other hand, I pick her purse back up. "I have a solution," I say, and watch as her eyes widen with disgust.

"I can't carry around a purse made of duct tape!" she hisses.

"Would you rather carry everything around in your hands?" She grumbles, and I take that as a no. "Look, the bell is going to ring, this is just until we can find something else!" She continues to pout as I stretch out enough tape to cover up the hole. Its true—the tape clashes with the purse horribly. It looks like a giant geometric mustard stain. I would've never paired them up otherwise. But it's what we've got to work with for now. It's a simple, temporary solution.

I do a quick tape job and extend the bag to Bebe. She denies it and curses again. "Bee stop bitching and just take it!" I tell her, shoving the hideous accessory into her chest and dropping the rest of her belongings back in. I rise to my feet, pick up my backpack, and speed walk down the hall to make it to my class on time. "See you at lunch!" I yell back to her, sensing that she hasn't moved from her devastated spot on the ground. She'd rather be late than walk into class—in front of people—with a fashion crime like that.

The bell rings and I take off in a sprint toward class. Every door closes, leaving the hallways as silent as a graveyard. Surrounded by an eerie feeling, I continue at the same pace to avoid getting a tardy slip. As I round the corner of my first period class, I practically trip over a forlorn figure hunched over with his butt up against the lockers. "Whoa!" I cry, choosing not to slow down until my back is facing him.

I recognize that body from anywhere. I slow to a stop and put my hand on the locker, only inches away from my destination. Sighing deeply, I turn around.

Stan is in a heap on the floor, his arms braced around his elbows, his knees tucked inside the barrier. His head is dropped to his chest as well, his back shaking violently. His sniffles break the deafening silence.

I drop my head and move toward him—my body and mind telling me to ignore him and go into class. But I obviously can't do that when he's breaking his force field in the middle of the school hallways! When I reach him, I don't bend down. Rather, I stand looking down at him, as though he is of lower life form than I.

He senses my presence and peers upward through glassy eyes. "Your class is waiting on you," he whispers through a choke. He sniffs once more, making a desperate attempt to show me he wasn't crying. I know better.

"What's wrong?" I ask monotonously. I'm not really sure how to handle my encounters with him anymore.

He snorts. "Why should you care anymore? You said so yourself, we're just two people who happened to date once. You don't have any interest in being my friend again."

Dammit, I hate it when he does that! Its like he never remembers a single thing I say…until I say something like _that_. I really did say that, didn't I? And I meant it…but…but…ARGH! I don't know!

"I don't like leaving someone alone when they're obviously sad," I instead say, trying to cover up my sincerity.

He turns to stare at the lockers opposite of him. "That's why you're a good person."

I give up standing and kneel down, instantly falling all the way down to my butt. "Not always," I point out.

"Don't feel obligated to talk to me, Wendy. You got your point across yesterday."

I growl under my breath. He's going to make me regret my decision to tend to him if he doesn't accept my company. "Good!" I say with little enthusiasm. "Maybe something I said sunk in for once."

He scoffs. "Looks like you're not finished."

I drop my sarcasm. It'll do neither of us good. "Look, don't be an asshole. I'm just trying to see why you're so upset."

He looks at me as if I just said something utterly preposterous.

"Okay, okay. I know why you're upset. But…what happened? How'd your parents take it? Did something happen at school?"

He drops his knees onto the ground and lays flat against the locker. "You could say that."

I hate how ambiguous he is. Its like he wants me to poke him for an answer until I anger him for prodding him too much. "Say what? What happened, Stan?" I ask in genuine concern.

"Dad fucking hit the roof. He didn't hear it from me. His secretary told him."

"Ouch," I say with a face. That must've not been pretty. Randy's an insensitive asshole when it comes to things. Ha, kind of like his son.

He smiles falsely. "Yeah. And mom…well she told me she knew. She figured something was up when he started spending the night all the time again."

"She didn't just figure you two enjoyed each other's company?"

"She claims she walked in on us once taking a shower," he explains, and my eyes narrow in jealousy. But that is my first instinct. I push it aside, and continue to ask questions.

"How could've you not known?"

He shrugs. "Glass got too steamy? How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm glad it wasn't dad who did _that_. I'd be shipped off to the Loony bin for sure. He told mom I need to look into some 'classes'."

"Oh jeez."

"Yeah. Said he had a buddy that went gay a long time ago and that he's all straightened up now thanks to Dr. whatever-the-fuck-his-name."

"They want to send you to a shrink?" I ask in disbelief. Even Randy wouldn't stoop that low…would he?

He shakes his head. "Mom won't allow it. She's being all lovey about it. Wanting to spend more time to get to know the 'new me'."

"There's nothing new about you!" I exclaim. "She even knows that!"

"That's what I said. But she's insistent. Oh, and she wants me to apologize to you. You know…for keeping you in the dark and cheating on you and stuff."

I scoff at how easily he can just _say_ that. How it doesn't break his heart that the girl he pretended to love for ten years is nothing more than a joke to him. I guess that makes sense. But still…

He can tell I'm agitated. "Those were her words, not mine." He turns to me, and I take in those baby blues of his. "Wendy…I…there are no words to describe how bad I feel for all of this. I know I've been an asshole to you and I know you could've been so much meaner about it. I know that I fucked up and I can't even tell you how worthless it makes me feel to know what I've done to the girl I love the most. What you said yesterday hurt but…it helped me see how selfish I was being. So yeah…it _did_ sink in." He makes an attempt to smile.

"I don't deserve your friendship," he continues, and I roll my eyes. "I DON'T! Even I can admit that. But…if you're willing to give me another chance, I can begin to make it up to you…somehow."

Is he being sincere? I can't tell.

He shakes his head when I don't respond. "I understand," he says before he pulls himself off the ground, dusting his backside. Looking around the hallway, he does his best to avoid eye contact. "You need to get to class."

I stand back up as well, meeting his reluctant gaze. "Don't do that," I warn.

"Do what?"

"Pretend that nothing's wrong and just change the subject," I answer, flustered.

"I have to get to class too…"

"See?" I cry. "You didn't even give me a chance to answer before you assume that I'm a cold-hearted bitch who isn't going to take your sincerity seriously!"

His eyes light up as he searches mine for meaning behind the words I just said. "Does that mean-"

"It means," I cut him off with my palm in the air and closed eyes, "that I renege my earlier statement." I drop my hand with a sigh. "We aren't two people that happened to date once. I know that. And even if I could ever act that way, I would always know the truth, and that's what hurts the most."

His shoulders slump. "I'm sorry for lying to you."

I can't believe I'm hearing what I'm hearing. Stan has _finally_ realized what he's done! This is a glorious day! And I, for one, am rejoicing. Because I know Stan, and I know it takes a mountain of courage for him to ever apologize. So when he does, it's genuine. Saying the words 'I'm sorry' for him is as hard as it would be for a fourteen year old to tell her mom 'I'm pregnant'. And once the words are out there, there's no going back. He knows this, and that is enough for me. I still don't forgive him…but that will come with time.

Even knowing how hard it was for him to say those simple words, I don't let him off the hook. "Stan, what you did warrants more than an apology."

He sighs. "I know."

"You lied to my face for a year!" This is my time to really get the apology—and the reaction—I've been wanting all along.

"I know."

"You continued to let me believe there was more to us than a cover up scheme. We still dated, we still spent time alone, we still had _sex_!" I screech, suddenly finding myself unable to control my words.

Sighing again, he stares at my toes. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You didn't correct people when they said we were the perfect couple, Stan. Everyone—including me—thought we were getting married!"

He takes a deep breath. "I _know_. I kept telling myself that too, believe me. I was so confused about what was going on. Why I felt the way I did. The first night Kyle and I…you know…I was in shock. And I hated myself. And I couldn't for the life of me explain why I did what I did. But it felt so right. And that's when I started to realize that maybe there's a reason it happened to begin with. Maybe Kyle and I knew this moment would come since the beginning of our friendship way before I even knew you. And this life I was living before I knew how I felt about him seemed like a lie to me." He sighs yet again. "But I refused to follow my feelings. I didn't want to be that way, especially when I knew I had a good thing going on with you."

That's the most honest, heartfelt explanation I think he's ever given to me about anything. I stand silently, hurt, relieved, satisfied, angry, sympathetic, and jealous all at once. He opens his mouth as if to continue, and I let him.

"You were the first real thing I ever had in my life. Everything came easily to me growing up. I was good at sports, great with people, and everyone loved me _because_ I was good at sports and nice to them. And you and I…we went through hell to get to where I was sure you were the girl for me. You saw more to me than what everyone else did, and I held onto that. Our relationship was real to me because I knew that you wanted to be with me no matter what.

"And Kyle, he was in the background. But he was also there for me, no matter what. I think that's why we stayed such good friends, because we just got along. It wasn't because we were both good at the same things. Shit, I'm not smart and he's no good at sports. But everything came easy to us. Our friendship was just…there. I didn't have to work to be with him. We didn't fight, and we didn't care what anyone else thought. When we were together…it was just us. I wanted that time more than anything, and when we weren't hanging out, I wanted to be.

"When I realized what that meant to me, things got all complicated. And he started acting really weird, and I thought I'd lost him. But then one night…his weirdness stopped and he told me he was only acting that way because he was scared what it meant for him…because he felt the same way and didn't want to admit it. And when we first kissed, I knew that everything in my life up that very moment had been one big lie. It wasn't who I was; it was just the person I was conditioned to become. And the fame, the popularity…you…they all paled in comparison to who I was when I was with Kyle. Of course I told myself that was all stupid, and I was just excited because someone else wanted to be with me." He frowns as if he's realizing something as he's confessing all of this to me. "I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here where I'm at now. Because I took him for granted. He wasn't just someone else to me, he was the real thing. But I'm so used to having things handed to me…I didn't want to work for him. I didn't want to give up the life that was given to me. I didn't want to give up a good thing for something great."

I gaze into his eyes for what seems like an eternity, awaiting the next part to what he has to say. But when nothing comes, it all sinks in. The confession, the admission of guilt, the realization that I was never the missing piece to his puzzle all hits me at once. And I'm sad again. But this time its not directed toward anyone. This time it's because I too, apparently, have been living a lie. I just didn't know it. And suddenly, just like this hair and makeup that covers up who I really am…I feel fake. Lost again. Everything I thought I wanted has been revoked from my grasp. I'm left with nothing familiar.

Then something happens that I wasn't expecting. With one hand, Stan grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in so that I can taste his lips on mine. His eyes clamp shut, as mine stay wide open, gawking at him. I feel my arms flail about, and I'm pretty sure we look pretty comical right now. But the confusion in his eyes shines through even through closed lids, and once I regain composure, I pull away gently.

I bite my lip and look to the ceiling, struggling internally with how to address his most recent actions. Swallowing, I look back at him through shock and uncertainty. "Wow," is all I can manage. It's not a 'wow' as in 'oh wow does that mean we're together again?' like some loony teenage girl who doesn't see the truth for what it is. It's a 'wow' because, once again, I realize my feelings for him are nowhere near as extinct as I vow them to be. They're still as strong as they were when I first found out about the whole mess. Which means it still hurts like it did the first time I knew I wasn't the one he wanted to be with. And kissing me has brought back all of those painful memories.

"Sorry," he apologizes. Again. "I just miss you, Wendy."

So you _kiss_ me!? That's what I really want to say, but I can't bring myself to alienate him further. Instead, I pull the 'ole Stanley standby of, "I understand."

He takes a moment to gauge my reaction before grinning with a hint of mischief. "You look really good today, by the way."

I scoff, unable to stop shaking my head. Wow is right. Just what exactly is he trying to do to me?!

"_Mr._ Marsh, I sincerely hope you don't think you'll be getting away with kissing your girlfriend in the hallway when you two should be in class right now. Please come with me."

We both turn to match the stern voice with its owner, and find probably the _only_ teacher left in this building who hasn't heard about Stan's public outing. Or maybe he doesn't want to. He's the straight-laced geometry teacher that never looks at us straight in the eye. He only addresses us with a Mr. or Miss in front of our last name, with the type of emphasis that lets you know you're in trouble.

"Mr. Carson, I was the one who blocked Wendy from getting to class. She didn't really have a choice, and her class is right there," Stan tells him while pointing to the door a few feet down the hallway. "Please just let her get back to learning. She loves her classes ever so much."

I can't believe Mr. Carson eats up that ham, but he does. With a flick of the wrist, he dismisses me. "Go ahead, Miss Testaburger."

Stan gives me a half-smile before getting carted off by the shoulder. I stand in disbelief, wondering if Stan would've ever done that for me before. Luckily for us, we'd never gotten caught skipping classes. Then again, we were never just hanging out in the middle of a hallway before either. I suppose that wasn't the brightest move. I didn't really think about it.

I gather my strength to face my class with a tardy the size of Arizona. You can't fake that you're late to class for a simple reason when you're—I peer down at my watch—_twelve_ minutes late. Maybe I can say that my car didn't start. Teachers _love_ that excuse.

"So nice of you to join us, Wendy," Mrs. Walters greets me seemingly as soon as I twist open the doorknob. Perhaps she knew of my whereabouts all along. You never know with that woman.

I accept my late arrival without an office excuse and the detention slip that follows. Then I plop down in my seat with my hand on my cheek, desperately trying to focus on the day's topic. It's kind of hard to do that, though, when my mind is still stuck in that hallway on the conversation I had with Stan.

I've come to a conclusion. I _have_ to help out Stan. He's hopeless without someone to give him a push—he's always been that way. And while I can't stand the thought of he and Kyle being back together, I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't keep putting myself in these heartbreaking situations, where every word he speaks is like a thousand arrows piercing my heart. I can't keep pretending that he wants to be with me anymore either. That ship has sailed, if indeed it ever came into the harbor at all. I mean, it's clear to me how deeply he cares about Kyle. Good God, I've never heard him speak so passionately about anyone before in my life. So while Bebe thinks I should distance myself from them, I think I should instead do the exact opposite.

Yes, I have to help Stan out for my own good. If I don't, I will never let this issue rest. I'll feel guilty for not doing all I could. If they mess it up on their own terms, then _they'll_ be the ones to blame. But I can't let Kyle wallow in his own sorrow, and let Stan feed off of his own misery, and feel good about myself. I have to get those two back together. And if it doesn't fix things for good, maybe it can help me out temporarily. Because if I focus all of my energy on working to get them back together, I can stop thinking about how screwed up this situation really is. And my thoughts are what's really destroying me.

It may not be what I want in the end, and it may not be the right answer. Either way, it's something I need to do at this time. For all of our own good. The sooner I can accept the fact that this is how it should be, the sooner I'll be able to sort out my feelings and get on with my own life. People fall out of love all the time, right? If trying to avoid them hasn't worked, and trying to forget about them hasn't worked, and trying to believe I'm over them hasn't worked, then maybe doing something good for them will.

Immediately, I begin jotting down ways to execute this new approach. It occupies my thoughts for the rest of the period. I become so absorbed in my strategy that I hardly notice the extra glances my way from the male population in the room. They're probably just trying to see what I'm writing down anyway. I ignore them.


End file.
